#he drops breadcrumbs of....whatever the fuck is going on in that house of his. and never mentions it again. what the fuck man

[jeansyvesmoreau]

jeremy asking jean to tell him about his issues when he himself keeps dodging his own issues.....dude at least jean talks about his trauma in his inner monologue what about you?

#melone.txt #tsc spoilers #the sunshine court #jeremy knox #he drops breadcrumbs of....whatever the fuck is going on in that house of his. and never mentions it again. what the fuck man #never expected him to be neil 2.0 but somehow even more avoidant but hey

[rhysismydaddy]

Prisoner's Game Pt. 3 (Rowaelin)

~Aelin~

There was something decidedly pleasant about sneaking out of prison.

It was the thrill, she supposed.

She'd always been a bit of an adrenaline junky, and there was nothing that matched up to the excitement of breaking out of a maximum security prison with no one being the wiser.

Aelin ran through the tunnel, her steps sure and soundless, a smile blooming on her face. What she was doing shouldn't give her such joy, but along with being a thrill seeker, she'd always been just a little bit vindictive.

Or maybe a lot.

The map of the tunnels was still crystal clear after all this time, and she had it memorized down to the number of steps it took to get to the right turn.

It was a three hour run. Two underground, then one through the city out into the suburbs.

While the first two hours were definitely not fun, it was the last hour that was tricky.

Avoiding cameras, not drawing any unwanted attention, dressing so no one could see her face without looking too much like the criminal she was.

It was also more exhausting.

It was an hour of sprinting across rooftops, sprinting through town, then sprinting some more.

It was a little funny to her that the journey to where she needed to go was more difficult than actually breaking into the building.

She had a set of scrubs stored in a nearby lockbox, along with a wig and a few prosthetics to make her look more like Ansel, one of the nurses working the night shift.

The security guard, Shelly, was prone to reading romance novels during her shift and never questioned why she occasionally thought she saw two of the same person wandering around.

It was no different tonight.

Once she had everything in place, Aelin strode confidently through the halls, grabbing charts and nodding like she knew what the hell she was looking at.

No one stopped her, no one questioned her.

When she got to the room and chart she wanted, she slipped inside soundlessly and crept up to the bed.

Despite the ever-present urge to hurry things along, she stuck to her plan and kept the dose the same.

The person on the bed never woke up, never noticed her slip an extra drug into the IV bag hanging on the wall.

Silent, efficient, traceless.

Just like she'd been taught.

Leaving was even easier than entering.

She waited until real-Ansel had been out of the guard's sight for a while, then walked out the back door of the facility like she hadn't just committed a felony.

One of the few crimes she actually deserved to be in prison for, ironically.

Then she ran back, hiding in the traffic camera's blind spots and ditching the wig along the way.

It was a little stupid and drawn out to do it this way, not to mention unbelievably cruel, but Aelin had always had a flair for the dramatic.

Plus, like she said: exciting.

~Rowan~

Doubt is a strange emotion.

It starts small, so small you hardly even realize it's there.

And then, over time, it grows and grows like a fungus, eventually becoming something that you think about all the time. Something that kills you.

Rowan didn't believe in doubt.

His problem had never been with not believing in himself, it'd always been with the opposite affliction: over-conviction.

He believed things so fully, so deeply, it was hard to see it any other way.

It was what made him such a good lawyer. As the top public prosecutor in the city, he had a reputation for being impossible to win against.

He convinced himself of the defendant's guilt so completely, the jury had almost no option but to believe him.

He hadn't always been that way, he didn't think. Argumentative and stubborn, sure. His mother could attest to that. But never so unflinchingly self-assured. So alright with deceiving himself if need be.

If he had to guess, he'd say it'd started two months after the day of Aelin's trial.

He hadn't been lying to her four days ago; every word had been the truth. He'd worked his ass off all those years ago, trying to find something that would help him either clear her name or at least fucking sleep at night.

He'd given himself a timeline, deciding that if he couldn't find a single lead in two months, there probably wasn't one. Two months, and then he'd let it go.

He didn't regret stopping his hunt--he'd seen what an obsession could do to someone.

And when that day had come, he'd thought he was ready. He'd exhausted himself working both her case and the ones he was assigned, burning the candle at both ends and sleeping in the office more nights than his own bed.

There'd been nothing to be found. The evidence, the testimonies, the medical examiner's reports... they'd all pointed to Aelin.

So eventually he'd forced himself to stop looking.

But the sight of her swinging between the two court police officers, fighting for just one more second with him with a desperation he'd never seen from her... he hadn't known how he could just forget something like that.

The image followed him, haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw hers. Lined with tears and disbelief and so much hurt he felt like invisible hands were wrapped around his neck.

So he'd hardened himself against it.

He'd repeated the pieces of evidence against her, told himself she was guilty until the words were easy to say, forced himself to visualize the crime scenes of her victims whenever he thought of her.

Piece by piece, he'd swapped out the months of positive memories they had with stone cold facts.

And it had worked.

After a month, he could sleep again. After a year, he hardly thought of her and when he did, it was with disgust.

Yet now, over eight years later, he found himself with just the slightest amount of doubt again.

It was the same nagging, incessant feeling he hadn't been able to shake eight years ago. Back for round two, apparently.

At first, he'd played it off as nerves from their conversation. She'd worked him up so much he'd admitted how much he'd once loved her and said things he shouldn't have.

His body was reacting to the sadness in her eyes, the surprise that had bloomed when he'd told her he'd fought for her. It was emotion, nothing based in logic, that made him want to start looking again.

At least that's what he told himself.

But four days later, he found himself on the couch--he really did need to give up and just buy a new bed--staring at the ceiling, trying to sleep and not being able to.

Because... well because what if she was telling the truth?

Why else would she have told him that story?

What had he missed during all those late nights spent hunched over her folder?

The questions grew and grew, until that once-little shard of doubt started to slowly drive him mad.

The uncertainty, no matter how small it had begun, had grown to be almost irritatingly large and unavoidable.

He couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. The breadcrumbs that apparently only he could find.

What did that mean?

And why couldn't he just let it go?

"Fuck!" he yelled, throwing his blanket off and storming to the closet.

Like a love-struck idiot, he'd kept a box full of the stuff she'd left at his apartment during their relationship. The stuff that wasn't evidence, at least.

If it was something only he could find like she'd said, it was probably something only he had access to.

He dropped the box on his kitchen table and opened the lid.

Then cursed when the first thing he saw was a pair of red lace underwear. That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about and remembering.

Especially when he'd barely been able to resist the temptation to kiss her in that interrogation room.

Something about the way she'd looked at him after he'd told her he'd fought for her all those years ago had rattled the grip he had on his control hard.

She'd seemed so... sad. So hopeless. It had brought out the urge to comfort her in whatever way he could.

Hearing about her childhood and how she'd been raised by Arobynn Hamel hadn't made it any better. Truthfully, it'd broken something inside of him.

She'd always been so positive around him--a ray of light he'd felt was put on this earth just for him.

And all the while, she'd been forced to live with and work for one of the most notorious crime syndicate members of all time.

He'd always known she hadn't had a good childhood, but there was a difference between foster care hell and an actual house of horrors. Rowan couldn't even imagine the things she'd seen. Been forced to see, to do.

She made it out, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath.

But had she?

If what she'd told him was true, she'd killed those people because she'd been forced to.

It hadn't been her choice.

But there was something else about her, something he couldn't stop thinking about.

The secret she'd eluded to, the one that apparently only he had the key to solving.

A secret she'd promised would explain everything.

He tossed the underwear on the table, vowing to ignore them.

Then threw them in the trash a minute later when that became impossible.

You're such an asshole, he told himself, shaking his head. It's been eight years.

Even if that part of their relationship was most definitely memorable.

"Jesus," he laughed, running a hand over his face. Why was he even thinking about that?

Maybe it was the look in her eyes four days ago, or maybe it was simply that Aelin had been an important part of his life. He'd never forget the connection they'd had. Maybe it would always be a part of him.

But that was ridiculous, because he'd been connected to plenty of women since. Plenty of gorgeous brunettes and redheads.

For some reason, he hadn't been able to date a blonde, but that didn't mean anything.

He was over her.

Obviously.

Forcing his thoughts away from Aelin, he grabbed the next thing in the box.

Her address book. Maybe she'd left a note in there?

He flipped it open, scrolling through blank page after blank page. Her cousin's address and phone number were there--both of which he confirmed with police records--but other than that, it was blank.

The next thing he found made the ache in his chest expand to a soul-sucking hole.

It was a travel brochure for Aruba.

The edges were frayed from how much she'd flipped through it, and notes in her handwriting were scribbled throughout the pages.

He remembered this, all right.

He'd woken up one morning, a morning that seemed like a lifetime ago, to find her laying on top of him, leafing through the travel pamphlet with a huge grin on her face.

"We're going to Aruba," she'd whispered in lieu of a greeting, leaning down to press her lips to his.

"Why?" he'd asked back between kisses.

"Because it's the perfect place to hide from your real life," had been her laughed response.

She'd planned a trip for them at Christmas. Their very first trip together.

Every time they saw each other, she'd shown him a new page or told him about a new activity she wanted to do.

In general, she was a happy, excited person, but he'd never seen her so thrilled over anything like she was that trip.

He'd hidden it better, trying to play it cool, but he'd been excited, too.

He'd pictured her on the beach, running in the sand and smiling and laughing and drinking from a coconut. He'd imagined sneaking to the beach one night and making love to her in the ocean.

He'd imagined getting down on one knee and asking her to be his travel partner for life.

She'd been arrested two weeks before they were supposed to leave.

He tossed the little magazine back into the box, shaking his head to clear it of the memories and long-lost dreams.

The only thing left in the worn box was books.

Aelin had volunteered at a publishing house, trying to get hired as a fiction editor, and she'd always had a book in her ridiculously heavy pocket book.

She'd given him a few of her favorites, claiming that if he ever wanted to know the "real her," he had to read them.

A statement that made a lot more sense now than it used to.

He grabbed the one on top and leafed through it, going through the pages and scanning.

When that didn't yield anything, he flipped to the back of the book and looked at the inscription she'd written him.

March 1

Rowan,

I know you're not a fan of fiction, let alone romantic, feminist fiction, but I hope you'll read this and fall in love with Elizabeth's character like I did.

Aelin

He turned the book over and looked at the front again, then flipped through it again, then went through the whole process again.

Why did he feel like something about this didn't add up? And why was this, of all things, what she'd left as a breadcrumb?

He didn't figure it out until he reread the inscription for the fifth time and realized the date she'd written.

March 1st.

It was wrong; she'd given him this book on his birthday in February. He remembered because he'd laughed about her giving a grown man a romance novel for his birthday.

Why had she put March 1st? And why did that date stand out in his mind?

Stomach dropping, he finally figured out why that date was so important. It was the date of the first murder.

Maddison Kliff, a state senator who controversially wanted to fund renewable energy in the upcoming year, had been murdered the morning of March 1st eight years ago.

Breadcrumb.

He grabbed the next book from the stack, Wuthering Heights, and flipped to the end.

Almost the exact same inscription, except the date was April 13th, and the inspiring character was Linton Heathcliff.

April 13th was the day another victim died.

Rowan's heart started pounding, so hard he thought he was going to either pass out or go into cardiac arrest.

What was the connection between these dates, characters, and victims? Rowan could feel it in his gut that this was what she'd been talking about. It had to be.

He flipped through the books again, looking for something else, but there was nothing there. Nothing was underlined or highlighted, and the books were all in brand-new condition, no pages were bookmarked.

"What are you trying to tell me, Aelin?" he whispered, rubbing at his temples.

He made a list of all the dates and characters, stared at it until he thought he'd go blind, and tried to think like her.

Except her mind was a complex puzzle he'd never quite solved, so that didn't give him anything besides a headache.

He looked in the box again, hoping to magically find another note or something that explained everything in simple, idiot-proof terms.

But all that was there was that damn Aruba magazine.

It's the perfect place to hide from your real life.

The words came rushing back to him, so suddenly and violently it was like his subconscious had been shouting it for a while.

Was that it?

Maybe the connection wasn't only between the dates and characters, but it also had something to do with Aruba.

Maybe that was where this secret, whatever it was, was hiding.

Knowing he was probably grasping at straws, Rowan grabbed his phone and called the one person who'd help him.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I need a favor, Gavriel."

He heard a heavy sigh. "Like a we've been friends for twenty years favor or like an I'm the Chief of Police favor?"

"The latter," Rowan answered.

"Dammit, Rowan, you're going to get me fired one day." That was what he said every time. There was a long pause, then, "What do you need?"

"Flight manifests from Rifthold to Aruba from ten different days eight years ago."

Gavriel caught on quickly. "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a former flame of yours, would it? One currently serving time for ten murders from eight years ago?"

"Of course not," he lied, knowing he was busted.

Another sigh. "You need to let this go, kid."

Rowan ran a hand over his face, knowing that wasn't possible. Not when, for the first time since he'd been assigned this God forbidden case, he had a lead.

"Can you help me or not?"

"I will, as long as you promise to drop it once whatever you're chasing ends up to be yet another dead end."

Knowing he didn't have another choice, Rowan agreed.

Gavriel told him he'd send them over, then said softly, "I know you loved her, Rowan, but it's time to move on."

It's not that easy, he thought, thinking once again of Aelin sitting in that tiny cell, skin pale and hair too long.

"Thanks for your help," he said instead, hanging up before the lecture could continue.

A few minutes later, he was printing out the passenger lists from all the Rifthold to Aruba flights on each of the ten dates.

Starting with August 1st, he went through, passenger by passenger, and looked for an Elizabeth.

There'd been three direct flights to Aruba that day, so by the time he found it, his eyes were so tired he almost missed it entirely.

But there was a name that stuck out, one that was straight out of his copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Seat 14C had been occupied by Elizabeth Darcy, and she'd flown directly from Rifthold to Aruba on August 1st.

Rowan's jaw damn near hit the floor.

His hands shook as he highlighted the name, writing the victim's name next to it to keep it straight in his head.

His mind whirled with possible explanations, but he didn't let himself think about anything except the next date.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, he went through the passenger list for April 13th.

And sure enough, Linton Heathcliff was on one of the flights. In the same damn seat.

"Holy fuck," he whispered, grabbing the next sheet of paper.

He went date by date, flight by flight, and by the time he'd located every character, he was sure of what he'd found. What she'd left for him.

It wasn't a breadcrumb, it was the whole goddamn loaf.

Rowan barely made it to the kitchen sink before his stomach emptied as an explanation of what had really happened eight years ago started to form in his mind.

He didn't have all the pieces, but the ones he did have made him literally sick to think about.

Her insistence on being innocent, her begging him to look again, telling him only he could find the clues... it all made sense.

The doubt he'd been struggling with for eight long years suddenly disappeared, replaced by a certainty so swift and thorough and all encompassing, it almost took his breath away.

She hadn't been lying.

She hadn't killed those ten people.

She couldn't have, because...

"They're still alive."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

dun dun duuuuun

part 4 out next Friday (sorry for the slow updates I'm in summer school)

@audreycressworth @whimsicallyreading @onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame @poisonous00 @vasudharaghavan @sailorsassley @endlessdaydream @swankii-art-teacher @beanco8 @stokingthemidnightflame @mis-lil-red @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @sheharahu @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @jorjy-jo @court-of-dreams-and-ashes @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @loudphantomdragon @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan whitehorn #rowan x aelin #aelin galythinius #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass fandom

[alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom]

THE MASTERPIECE: CHAPTER 4/5

Pairing: Modern!IVAR x Reader x Modern!HVITSERK

Spotify playlist: here (only for those who like latin urban music)

Warnings: strong language, smutty bits, fluff

Words: 1211

a/n: This MASTERPIECE was so much fun. It was such an honor to do this with you @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie, you are so talented! Every hour of writing and editing was definitely worth it!

Summary:

Ivar and Hvitserk had always prided themselves in being the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. They had a comfortable life full of everything they wanted: houses, cars, money, and the most beautiful women. And with all of that came the security of always having the upper hand. But what happens when a bewitching girl from Ragnar’s past arrives into their lives claiming his fortune?

After Hvitserk was done talking, Ivar huffed a few times before speaking in a tone halfway between resentful and defeated. “Well, I really didn’t need all the details of how many positions you fucked her in that night, but thank you for telling me the truth, I guess.”

Hvitserk munched on a piece of cream-filled cake he’d ordered a few minutes ago, the gooey center exploding and splattering his mustache. He stuck out his tongue to clean it and gave Ivar a cocky smile. “My pleasure.”

Considering the fucked-up position they were in, Hvitserk seemed to be way too calm about it and Ivar didn’t trust his carefree behavior but before he could interrogate him, Hvitserk got ahead of him and commented: “Now don’t go acting like you didn’t go looking for her again. Tell me what happened after she met with me.”

~~·······~~

“Why didn’t you call me back?” Ivar had her tightly locked in his arms when he realized with concern how much he’d missed her smell.

“I had to do something, Ivar...” She rolled her eyes lightly. “But you’re here with me now, so let’s forget about that.” She kissed the plump curve of his lips to keep him from talking.

“I just… I missed you, is all.” His blue orbs were fixed on her face. “What was so important that you had to leave me for so long?” Ivar sounded needy and he knew it but he couldn’t fight the words that escaped his mouth.

She felt pressured, so she quickly changed the subject. “Nothing… Let’s just have a little fun, huh? What do you say?” Y/N walked to the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. “Here.” She sat close to her prey with a wide and seductive smile.

“Thank you.” Ivar took a sip. “Is this a different brand of wine?”

“Yeah… You could say so… So, why don’t we talk about Ragnar? I heard he was an excellent businessman and amateur art collector. Although others say that he could be a little too distrustful. Back when I knew him, he was neither of those things. So, what’s the truth, Ivar?” She left a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow.

“Yeah… The rumors were right. Father was a little paranoid at times. He was afraid of thieves and of his wealth disappearing. He didn’t want to become a poor farmer again and the thought of losing his fortune haunted him. I think that’s a curse when you’re rich...”

She’d never seen him so open, relaxed, and willing to share.

He made himself comfortable on the sofa and she put up her feet on his lap for him to massage them.

“And what did he do about this... fearthat he had?”

“He always had the stupidest ideas.” Ivar smiled faintly. “Although this idea was not as stupid as the others.”

“Yeah, what idea was that?”

“He was in love with one of the Klimt pieces that we own. And it just so happened that the frame had a furrow in the back... He used that crevice to hide things.”

“But I don’t understand. You can’t hide money in a furrow, can you?” She giggled after taking a sip of her wine, asking for more information.

“Oh, no, no, of course not.” Ivar laughed with his face tainted red. The wine intoxicated his senses easily. “He told me about a key that he put in there. It opened up a box or a locker or whatever. To be completely honest, I don’t know. I just know that he stowed valuable things in there. Probably jewels, money, documents. Stuff like that...”

“It must have been quite a masterpiece if Ragnar liked it so much. What did this painting look like?”

“It’s just a woman holding a severed head, and he used to love it for some reason. But our mom hated it so she never went anywhere near it… They were always bickering about it because she said it ruined the rest of her tasteful decor. Hvitserk didn’t like it either but he offered to keep it in his room if it would shut her up.”

Y/N’s heart tightened. That was the same painting that had caught her eye. The things Ivar was revealing made her curious. She wanted to know what Ragnar was hiding away.

Ivar looked up at the ceiling and kept mumbling nonsense words. He passed a hand across his forehead where sweat drops pooled at his eyebrows.

Y/N set down both of their glasses on the coffee table and took off his shirt. She knelt in front of him briefly to run her tongue over his abs and he groaned, then she crawled on top of him, setting her thighs on his.

“Ride me like last time, Y/N. I want to feel your warm, tight pussy again.” Ivar squeezed her ass and pulled himself up. He grabbed her neck, drawing her closer and he choked her lightly. He bit her roughly in the cleft of her breasts and she whined.

“Then take another sip.” She gestured to the abandoned glass.

He drank the rest of the cocktail in one gulp and she grinned.

“It’s going to be a long night, Ivar.”

~~·······~~

When Ivar woke up, he glanced over at her fondly. She looked so cute while she slept. Unlike him, she was completely dressed and he wondered why briefly. He covered himself up and unintentionally tore the blanket off her and she stirred.

“Sorry about that.” He apologized and shared the blanket again.

He assumed they had slept together the night before even if his memories were gone. Ivar was annoyed about it. Y/N was such a busy woman and the moments with her were so few and precious and now he couldn’t even remember them.

“You alright?” She sat up to look him in the eye.

“I am. It’s just that-” He grabbed her chin, drawing her closer. Ivar felt the need to make this a memorable moment. “I love you.” The kiss was like none he’d ever shared with her before. He put all of his feelings into it, hoping she would notice.

And she did.

~~·······~~

Y/N’s POV

Dear diary,

What the fuck?! No no no. This whole thing is driving me crazy. Ivar shouldn’t love me, that was not the plan. This was supposed to be a truth potion, not a love potion...

Carrying him into my bedroom and undressing him was so exhausting... my back still hurts. But the good thing is, I didn’t have to spread my legs for the cripple this time because I can’t forget about the time that I spent with Hvitserk… I still feel him inside of me, his hot breath on my skin and his strong hands circling me closely.

Call me crazy but every time Hvitserk smiles, I see Ragnar. They have that same quiet arrogance that I love so much. I don’t know how to feel about it. But even if it hurts me, I’ll have to keep going with my plan.

I can’t let my heart get in the way for the second time in my life. I promised myself I would never be anyone’s fool ever again.

#ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk x reader #kattegat #hbovikings #vikings #history vikings #collab

[modestlyabsurd]

Alight Pt. 3 (Loki x Reader)

"That," he wiped his bleeding cheek, "was a big mistake."

He was gonna retaliate right then and there, the life leaving his eyes and rage consuming him. You prepared. He'd already gotten in a few licks leaving you pretty weakened. Arms were throbbing from blocking blows and your head burned in white hot pain. You're no match for Dickhead. But at this point if you died fighting him, so be it. It'd be better than living the rest of your life here.

As he lunged, he suddenly froze in place, and then your blood ran cold. His face disappeared - then reappeared in an instant.

Your heart beat so fast that your entire body was rendered paralyzed. Hallucinating - definitely hallucinating.

But it happens again; his face glitches from its brooding, bloodied features to a blank sheet of skin and back again.

He chuckles. His voice darkens robotically as his face goes in and out, like a TV with bad reception. "Looks like you damaged my screen."

The ground wobbles beneath your feet, but there's nothing around to steady yourself except for your own head - and it could explode at any second.

"What? Now you're scared?" He takes a small step forward, you take the same step back. "You should've been scared this entire time. You're not back home on Earth."

... What? How?

"Don't act surprised. But it's not an act, is it? You really thought you were smart. Humans are so laughable sometimes. Steadfast? Sure. But you're all so easily broken. That, and your inherent ignorance was the dead giveaway to your origins."

His dark, artificial eyes repeatedly go in and out and return to yours each time. He clears his throat and places his arms at ease. "Allow me to explain a bit about myself, since you were gracious enough to oblige me in a similar nature," he smiles, gesturing to his injured human cheek.

Your skin itches all over. Your mind is sending distress signals everywhere it can. Which, clearly, isn't far.

"I am a Chronomonitor. We are created and assigned whenever and wherever a reality is altered. I would normally explain the development process of how we're created, but I'd bet you don't know the first thing about quantum technology. Just like I'd bet you don't know the first thing about gamma radiation," he smirks.

Fuck ... what all do they know?

"But that's besides the point. I was created when the reality of Earth in the year 2012 was tampered with by undercover parties. I will cease to exist when my job is complete, which is to eliminate the threat and restore reality as it is. Until then, you're stuck with me indefinitely."

Wonderful, you bitterly think to yourself.

He dares to take another step closer, and despite yourself, you dare not to take one back.

"See how much easier things can be, if you're a good little human?"

A voice interrups through his radio, shouting urgently in their verbal codes. He tilts his head to listen and in an irritated rush he responds with an affirmation.

Now completely faceless, without concealment, he turns to leave. But not without a final word. "I feel like we've gotten to know each other a little better. No more secrets now. Right, Doe six one eight? Or, rather, little L/N."

He had the nerve to whisper your last name.

When the cell door shuts behind Mr. Chronomonitor, you start crumbling. Your legs nearly give way as you stumble back, back, until you hit the concrete wall and slide down, your throat constricting. They tracked you. They tracked the breadcrumbs, and you just gave them a freshly baked loaf with your name written on it.

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think straight. All you could do was cry.

All you wanted was Loki.

Loki would know what to do.

Loki would know what to say.

Loki would protect you. He wouldn't let these forces get anywhere near you. He didn't! That's why your steadfast, laughable, ignorant fucking self is here in this space pit. Because he died protecting you from the true forces of the universe, and their crimes.

You wished that wasn't your last memory of him. That's why you've forced yourself not to think of him during this imprisonment. But things always come full circle. You should've known better. Loki always compared your feelings to a body of water, and said that the levee reserving the riverflow was made of fire. The flames will always succumb to the water at some point. Goddammit, you miss him. In the most selfish way possible.

He was one the few people in your life who accepted you unconditionally; he loved even the worst parts of you. Looking back, you took that for granted. A little voice keeps nagging you about it as time goes on, and in all honesty, you're starting to believe you deserve to stay here indefinitely.

You miss him. The hot, fiery tears leaving streaks down your swollen cheeks are the testament to it. You miss the real Loki. A far cry from who's out here in the timelines running amok.

It's the broken, vengeful, brainwashed monster that Thanos created in 2012 that's left. You think back to that distant, original little spark of hope; that maybe the real Loki is still alive and lost in there somewhere. Maybe you could find him, bring him to the light.

But that was then. Now, the chances of ever finding Loki are slim to none, and your chances of staying prisoner here are rising.

~

Oh for Heaven's sake. It was just getting good!

The melee had to end right when the mysterious neighbor had done what he couldn't do (what he truly wished to do if he hadn't a main objective) and that was provoke that oaf of a guard to the breaking point. But he remembers there's been no provoking whatsoever. Only silence.

And then a beating ensued, and even Loki had to turn away. He's not a sadist. He's more of a curious panther that's been reduced to a pathetic house cat.

Indeed while the voice of the Other continues to berate him for his childish approaches, and in a similar nature, Loki has chosen to ignore it. Temporarily, of course. It's not his fault that the daft creature cannot function under anything but its own direct orders. Loki enjoys chaos. And in this place, he doesn't even have to be the perpetrator.

Although useful in that he now knows a great deal more about these bots and their facility, this sort of chaos isn't exactly what he had in mind. Unlike the Other, as well as the Titan, hurting people fruitlessly doesn't interest Loki.

"Knock, knock," a voice sarcastically sounds outside the cell door.

Loki's ears perk and the hair on his neck dares to stand on end, but he doesn't allow it. He leans against the gray concrete comfortably, awaiting his visitor.

"Time for my interrogation already?" he chirps. The Chronomonitor - information accredited to his neighbor - opens the heavy door, bringing in shadowy dim light from the hallway. It appears as the same burly man with educated eyes and sturdy limbs, and a faint scar on its cheek. Loki cannot the smirk on his face as he eyes the robot, relishing in the secret knowledge he has. He distantly wonders how he'll use it to his advantage later.

"Afraid not," it shakes its head. "That's why I'm here. Mobius has chosen to delegate more time to another case over the next few days, so you're off without questioning today."

"What a shame. I was looking particularly forward to my session this afternoon," Loki feigns disappointment. He then inquires, "What could possibly interrupt such a cured routine?"

The robot ponders Loki, but in the moment, does not deem him disingenuous.

A mistake.

As if it's divulging a secret, the robot lowers its tone. "It's the person right next to you, as a matter of fact. She's been an absolute pain ever since she was apprehended a month ago. Mobius is even sicker of it than I am," it nearly growls, before recollecting. "But now he's finally ready to do something about it."

The way the bot's teeth shined in sticky enjoyment struck a nerve in Loki.

He tilts his head, playing along. "What do you think that something will be?"

"That's to be determined. Oh, and you didn't hear any of this," the bot threatens.

"Of course," Loki assures. Even though he heard every word of it.

The bot nods. It then scans the cell, as Loki crosses his arms and slides his tongue over the grooves of his cheek. The robot's eyes land on the uneaten breakfast tray next to the bed.

"Better eat. The cooks never cook that good."

"Merely saving it for later," he responds, voice clipped.

Awkwardly, the bot turns to leave. "Won't be another meal for a good few hours."

"Four hours. To be exact."

The bot looks back at Loki with bewilderment. Loki notes how easily angered they can become, if outwitted. Without another word it waves an arm dismissively and locks the door tightly behind.

It's just at the surface. But how did his neighbor do it so effortlessly?

A girl, he remembered. The robot referred to a girl.

He lay his head against the hard pillow of the wall, still propped against it. Outside his ever-racing mind, the world around him became quiet. Impossibly quiet; quiet enough to hear. Maybe enough to hear a pin drop, or a mouse scatter across the floor.

Definitely enough, he learned, to hear soft, barely audible cries through the thick walls of his cell. His eyes widened.

Female cries, he notes.

Loki's curiosity is getting the best of him. But he decides he'll deal with whatever repercussions there are.

Just for kicks, he creates a duplicate illusion of himself, leaving it on the bed. Then, cloaked in invisibility, he enters the cell next door.

The cells are similar - dark, unkind concrete. A bed. A sink. A toilet. A mirror, and something his own cell lacks: a door with a small window with a view, of another door. Loki's not surprised.

The prisoner is what surprises him.

A woman, indeed. Scrubbing at her face over the white sink, washing it in red. She pushed her hair back as it kept falling in her face, sticking to her blood. Wearing the TVA prison suit identical to his, her exposed arms were marked by violence. She turns off the sink and looks at herself in the mirror. If Loki were visible, they would've locked eyes right then and there.

She looked innocent, even babyish in the face. Something felt familiar about her. Strongly, strangely familiar, but he couldn't place how. It bothered him. The dark bruises littering her skin bothered him more; they pinched and scratched at his nerve endings.

He can't look away. In fact, he contemplates making his presence known to her, but hesitates as she moves to the cot.

Loki breathes.

Upon having a face to match with the body, he wonders. He's always been a good judge of character; what could that face have possibly done to be treated differently than he? He hadn't been assaulted by any guards or agents, even when he'd provoked them. Make no mistake, he's treated with less than respect, but not to the point of beatings at least. So what is it about this normal, non-threatening woman?

Still unable to look away from her, she lays on the cot, facing the wall - away from Loki. From this perspective she seems almost like a child. He sees her deep breathing and hears her silent whimpers; he watches her until she eventually falls asleep.

Resigning himself back to his own cell, he too lays on his cot. It's so boring here. Even with new guests, they fall asleep just as the story begins to barely unfold. A pity.

Who is that woman?

There's two sides to the coin that is Loki's thought process. It would be a lie to say he wasn't glad that the quiet one finally cried herself to sleep. But when has it being a lie ever stopped him from saying something?

~

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum @tarynkauai @sadwaywardkid

#loki x reader #loki imagine #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki #loki series #tom hiddleston #thor #thor ragnarok #thor odinson #the avengers #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #avengers endgame #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #mcu #modestlyabsurd

[avengerscompound]

Mixology - Partings

Mixology - A Captain America Fanfic

Series Masterlist Previous //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count:  3623

Series Warnings:  Angst, Character death, Breaking up and making up, past trauma, pregnancy, talk of abortion, smut (vaginal sex, fingering, other things)

Synopsis:   Steve Rogers comes into your bar and after a night of flirting you take him home.  When he leaves the next day you never expect to see him again.

A/N:  This fic was written pre-Infinity War.  So while it follows canon for a while, it then veers off wildly at the end.

Partings

You and Steve sit cross-legged on your bed.  You’re wearing a robe and Steve has pulled his boxers back on.  You’re playing crazy eights.  You keep trying to cheat because every time he catches you he starts tickling you.  

“You know earlier, you said that you didn’t think Steve was the kind of guy who would go skinny dipping?”  You ask.  

Steve draws a card from the deck and you scan your hand to see if you can play anything.  The top card is a six of hearts so you play a six of spades.  

“Yes,”  Steve says, playing a jack of spades.  

“Why only think?  How do you not know if Steve would go skinny dipping?”  You ask.

Steve looks at you and mulls over his answer.  “I guess I never got to know that side of me.  When I was young I was sick all the time.  My mom kept a close eye on me.  I never learned to swim, she wouldn’t have allowed that.  Then post serum, I’ve just had to be responsible.  That’s what I am, isn’t it?  Responsible?”

You play a four of spades but tuck a 3 of clubs under it.  

“I saw that!”  Steve cries, pouncing on you.  The cards go flying and his hands dig into your ribs and squirm up under your arms.  You squeal thrashing under him trying to get away.  There is a sudden shift.  He pulls you into him, his mouth meets yours, sucking and biting at your lips.  

His mouth moves down your jaw and you link your fingers around the back of his head.

“You lied to the military or the government or whatever…”

“SHIELD.”  He corrects you before continuing to kiss down along your neck.  He sucks hard on your skin.  You hum.  He’s marking you and normally that would bother you.  It feels so fucking good though, you can’t even make yourself care.

“You lied to SHIELD about being injured so you could hang out in a studio apartment fucking a stranger all day.”  You continue.  “That doesn’t sound too responsible to me.”

“You really want me to go skinny dipping, don’t you?”  He asks.  

You shrug.  “It doesn’t have to be that.  I just think you should do something for Steve or else all you’re going to be is Captain America.  You seemed so adamant that that’s not who I saw when I saw you.  Be a shame to lose Steve.”

He props himself up on his elbows over you.  “I sometimes worry that Steve might be gone already.  Most of my friends just call me Cap.  The only person who knew Steve when that’s all I was is in a nursing home and she doesn’t always remember who I am.”

You stroke your fingers along his jaw. “If that’s true, why did you want me to be so sure I saw Steve and not Cap like your friends?”

Something in him seems to deflate. His eyes are filled with real sadness.  You feel a real sense of dread as he opens his mouth.  “Someone has to see him.”

Your breath catches.  You pull him into you kissing him fiercely.  Trying to undo the pain you just dealt him.  He buries his face into your neck.  “I’m sorry, Steve.”  You say, pleading with him to hear you now.  “I do see you.  I see you, Steve.”

He lies just pressed against you for a moment.  “Thank you.”  He says, pushing himself off you.  He starts pacing around the room looking for his clothing, that have been strewn around the room.  “I should probably get going.”

You get up and walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.   “Please don’t go.  Not yet.”

He stands there, not doing anything.  Just breathing. You can’t see his face, so you have no idea what’s happening in his head.  You listen to his chest.  His heartbeat.  The sound of his breath being drawn in and released.  Eventually, he turns in your arms and wraps his around you.  “I’m not sure what you want from me anymore.”  

“Nothing.  Just to have a good time. I’m sorry I don’t want it to end like that.”  You plead with him.

He sighs.  “I’ll stay for a bit longer.  I did have some things in mind.”  

You look up at him and trace your index finger over his bottom lip.  “Thank you, Steve.  Are you hungry?”

He nods.  

“Do you want something healthy to make up for the breakfast?”  You ask.

“No.  I want something loaded in carbs.”  He answers.  

You grin.  “I have just the thing.”  

The two of you go into your kitchen and you pull out some eggplants.  You pass them to Steve and ask him to slice them thinly.  As he goes to work you turn on the oven, beat some eggs and pull bread crumbs from your cupboard along with some homemade marinara sauce that Davide’s family had given to you.

“You make marinara from scratch?  I didn’t think people did that these days.”  Steve mused as you take slices of eggplant from him and dip them into the egg wash and breadcrumbs.  

“No, I didn’t.  One of those guys I was working with last night.  The serious one with the ironic mustache.  His family is from Italy.  I guess people still cook from scratch in Italy or something.  They don’t think I take care of myself properly.  So I end up with lots of Italian food.”  You explain.  “No complaints from me though.  It’s awesome.”

“It’s nice that you’ve found people who care for you like that.  Do you think it will keep you here?”  Steve asks.

You shake your head and move the eggplant into the oven to bake. “People only ever superficially care about me.  When it doesn’t take extra thought.  Davide’s family give me pasta sauce because they give everyone pasta sauce. They’d give it to you too if you showed up to their house.  If I really needed help, they wouldn’t be there for me.  When I’m done with DC, I’ll move on.  I was thinking New York next.  That’s where you’re from isn’t it?”

“I think the New York I’m from might be different than today, if you’re angling for a neighborhood recommendation.”  Steve teases.  He comes up behind you while you prepare a glass baking tray with the marinara sauce, wrapping his arms around your waist.  “Maybe you should give people a chance to care about you.  If you keep moving how would anyone get the chance?”

You turn to face him, looking up into his eyes.  “You can talk.  Besides, I grew up giving people a chance.  I have many nice acquaintances, who I enjoy spending time with.  I don’t have close friends.  I never have.  It’s okay.  I don’t let people in very well.”  You lean up and kiss him, just briefly.  “Weren’t we supposed to keep to happy things?”

Steve’s hands slide down to your ass and he lifts you placing you on the kitchen bench.  You start to kiss, taking your time with it.  His hands slip into your robe, pushing it apart.  He lazily explores your body but never moves his mouth from yours.  

The timer on the over buzzes.  “What needs to happen with these?”  He asks pulling the eggplant out.

“They need to be flipped and put back in for 10 minutes.”  You answer.

He complies and returns to you, taking straight up where he left off.  He starts trailing kisses down your throat and over your collarbone.  One hand goes to your breast and he kneads it.  You hum and clutch at his hair.  He pulls you to the edge of the counter and grinds into you.  

The buzzer goes off again, and you push him away from you reluctantly.  Sliding from the counter you go remove the eggplant from the oven.  You layer it in the dish, sauce, eggplant, mozzarella, eggplant sauce, repeat.  On the very top layer, you grate parmesan cheese and you put it back in the oven.  

“That will be about half an hour.”  You say turning to Steve.

“Perfect.”  He says.  He takes you in his arms and turns you to the counter.  He pulls the cord on your robe and slides it down your arms before tossing it into the living room.  His hand runs down your arms moving them so you have your hand on the counter palm down.  He shifts your legs apart and his hand moves between them.  

His fingers glide up and down your folds.  You’re already wet.  You’re ready for him.  You need him.  He drops his boxers and his cock presses against your cunt.  He moves his hips slowly against you.  Using his cock to stroke your pussy.  Each forward thrust pushes the head of dick against your clit.  

He licks a stripe up your back and you whimper, pushing back against him.  You raise your hand but he moves it back to the counter.  

“Please, Steve.”  You whine.

“Not yet.”  He purrs, nibbling at your neck.

You whimper and wriggle your hip against him.  “Steve, I need it.  I need you.”

“You need me?”  He teases.  His arm wraps around your waist and his starts toying with your clit, rolling his fingers over it, flicking it.  You moan and lift your hands again.  “Hands on the counter, sweetheart or I’m going to keep you waiting a very long time.”

Your pulse speeds up and you place your hands back down on the countertop.  

“I want to hear it again.  Tell me you need me.”   He growls.

You swallow hard.  It feels like your heart is beating in your throat.  “Steve.  I need you.  Right here.  Right now.  I need you so badly.  Please.”

With no warning, he pushes his cock into your cunt.  There is no time to adjust, he just starts thrusting into you.  He never goes further than is comfortable, but he is relentless.  Pounding into you.  Your hands slip over the countertop as you are pushed forward with every thrust.  His fingers remained at your clit, circling and pinching at the small bud.  

You started to moan, an orgasm brewing in you.  Your head fell forward resting on your hands and he grabbed you suddenly by the throat, yanking you upright against him.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?  What you needed?”  He growls, his mouth so close to your ear you can feel his hot breath tickle your skin.

“Oh god yes.”  You groan as he continues to pound into you.

He pulls out suddenly spinning you to face him and lifts you back onto the counter.  He pulls you to the edge and enters you again.  This time he slows his pace down.  He rolls his hips with each thrust.  

His hands go to your face.  He runs a thumb over your bottom lip before capturing it with his mouth.  You kiss, slowly, languidly but barely let each other up for air.  His hands slide through your hair and down the back of your neck.  Yours cling to him, cradling his head as you kiss.  You might describe this sudden change of pace as making love if there was, in fact, any love involved.  It feels intimate and tender and like he might actually care about you.  Except you know he doesn’t.  Not really.  You’re just two ships in the night.  He will move on, as will you.  As it should be.

He lifts you off the counter, his cock remaining buried deep within you, and he carries you to your bed.  He slips out of you and turns you.  You crawl up onto the mattress and he pounces on you pressing you into the bed.  He guides his cock back inside of you and wraps his arms around your neck, so you’re able to rest your head on them.  He is pressed down on you, but despite the fact he’s quite heavy, it doesn’t feel unpleasant.  In fact, it’s almost comforting like a heavy comforter on a rainy day.

Steve sucks and nibbles at your earlobe as he thrust and rolls his hip against you.

You hum, closing your eyes.  “Mm… Steve, you feel so good.”

“You feel pretty great, yourself.”  He replies.  

This time your orgasm comes on you slowly.  It rolls over you like a wave, encompassing all of you.  Steve comes with you, and the pulse of his cock inside of you heightens your own pleasure.  

Steve slips out and rolls off you, but only enough that his whole weight is no longer on you.  You are still completely wrapped in his body. He pulls you so your head, his pressed against his chest, under his chin.  

“Steve.”  You murmur.

“Mmm?”

“You don’t seem like the one night stand kind of guy.  Why are you doing this?”  You ask.

His lips touch the top of your head.  “You might be right.”  He says.  “That person I told you about, the one who’s still alive?”

“Yeah?”

He sighs and his arms tighten around you.  “She was my girl.  We spent two years building a relationship.  I was slow to make a move and when I did we still didn’t really do anything physical about it.  We were waiting until the war was over.  Then I died.  So she moved on.  Only I wasn’t dead.  Now she’s here and she’s lived her life and I still love her.  It feels strange to move on and it feels strange not to.  This is the compromise I can live with for now.  I find people who see Steve and not Cap and I enjoy the brief time I spend with them.  I don’t do it often.  Just from time to time.”

“Well, that sucks.”  You say.  

He chuckles softly.  “I take it that you are the one night stand kind of person?”

You laugh.  “Yeah. It’s my preference.  This is the weirdest one I’ve ever had though.  Normally they’re in and out pretty quick.”

“I told you why I do it.  Why do you do it?”

You don’t say anything for a moment, just mulling the question over.  “I don’t know why, but the few men I have attempted relationships with have only stuck around until I agreed to have sex with them.  Then they’ve dumped me.  For a long time, I thought maybe I was bad at it.  I have since realized that actually, all they wanted was the sex.  So now I skip over the relationship part and go to the sex.  Saves me heartache.”

“Not every man will treat you like that.”  He says.

You laugh.  “I am a terrible judge of which are the good ones and which are the bad ones.  This is easier.”

The smell of smoke drifts across the room, followed by the wail of the smoke detector.  You both jump up suddenly.

“Shit the eggplant!”  You squark running into the kitchen.  

Steve dashes around the apartment opening windows while you retrieve the ruined eggplant parmigiana from the oven.  The smoke alarm falls silent and Steve comes up behind you peering over your shoulder.  

“Well, I’m not eating that.”  He says and pokes you in the ribs.  

You turn to the cupboard and open it.  “Back up plan.”  You say pulling down two boxes of cereal.

Steve picks up the box of Corn Flakes.  “They used to have this back when I was a kid.”  He says.  “Do they still taste like cardboard?”

“They sure do.”  You laugh placing two bowls on the counter.  

“What about these ones?”  He asks holding up the box of Trix.

“They taste like cardboard that’s going to give you a cavity.”

“Well, I guess I’ll go for the Trix.”  He says pouring the cereal into one of the bowls.  

“Silly rabbit.”  You tease.  The reference seems to be lost on him though, so you quickly move on pouring your own bowl of cereal.  

You both go and sit on the couch and you put your feet into his lap.  

“Tell me a story from when you were a kid.” You say.

“Okay.”  He takes a mouthful of cereal while he thinks of something.  “Once me and my best friend.  His name was Bucky.  We skipped out of school to play hookey.  We managed to sneak in to see a movie.  They caught us.  My mom was called.  She gave our ears such a boxing.  She never told Bucky’s parents though or my dad.  He would have gotten much worse.  So she kept it a secret.”

You sigh.  The thought of having someone to have protected you from your parents is something that both feels good and hurts because you never did.

“Now you,”  Steve says.

“Once when I was at school, there were these guys picking on a little girl.  They had her bailed up against a wall.  I was bigger than her, but still much smaller than them.  I went up and punched one so hard in the face that I knocked two of his teeth out.”  You say.  

Steve laughs.  “You sound like me.   I was always the smallest and getting into fights because big guys like to throw their weight around.”

“The unfortunate consequence of that story is, that the school called my parents.  That night my dad wailed on me.  He ended up throwing a table at me when I tried to get away and it broke my collarbone.”  You say.  You don’t know why you decided to tell him that.  You’ve never told anyone that.  

He looks at you sadly but without pity.  His strokes your cheek with his palm.  “You didn’t have anyone to stand up for you, huh?”

You shake your head.

“Bucky used to stand up for me.  When I got into fights.  Which was all the time.”  Steve says.

“Do you know what happened to him?  Did he have a good life?”  You ask.

Steve shakes his head.  “I selfishly kept him with me when he should have gone home during the war.  He died standing up for me one last time.  I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that.”

“Well don’t we make a miserable pair.”

You both put your bowls down and you shift so you are leaning up against him, your head on his chest.  He skims his fingers up and down your arm in an absentminded way. You yawn and close your eyes.

“I think I might need to take a nap.”  You say.

“Do you want me to leave?”  He asks resting his chin on your head.  

“No.  But you can if you want.  It has to end sometime.”  

Steve gets up and pulls you to your feet.  “Let’s nap.”

You both crawl in bed with each other.  He spoons you, both arms wrapped around your body.  For the second time in less than 24 hours, you fall asleep in his arms.

You wake to him stroking his fingertips down your neck.

“Hey.”  You murmur.

“Hello.”  He replies.  “I should probably get going soon.  I have plans with a friend.”

“That’s okay. I understand.”

His fingers trail down over your breasts and dance over your pussy.  You wriggle back against him and feel his dick begin to harden against your ass.

“I really enjoyed being with you.  I haven’t had a day where I haven’t had to be Captain America for a long time.”  He says.

“You need to be kinder to yourself, Steve.” You whisper.

He laughs.   “And you need to let people be kinder to you.”  His fingers slip between your folds and he circles one over your clit.  “Can I ask something of you?”

“If it’s for anal, that will be a hard pass.  It would take a lot of practice for me to be able to take that.”

Steve bursts out laughing.  “It wasn’t for anal.”  He uses one of his legs to push one of yours forward.  You feel the pressure of his cock pressed against your cunt just before he slides it inside of you.  You gasp, your fingers gripping at his forearm.   “The things we talked about today.  I’d prefer if they didn’t get out.”

“Of course not.  I’m not a monster.”  You reply.  

“Thank you.”  He breathes.  He starts to thrust into you as his fingers roll over your clit and pinch and tweak at your nipples.  He kisses your throat and the back of your neck.

As your orgasm builds, he starts getting a little rougher.  He thrusts hard into you, his hand grips your breast and he bites your shoulder.  Pulling at your flesh with his teeth. You pant and moan as your orgasm crests and when it breaks you cry out, reaching back and gripping hold of Steve’s neck.  

He comes shortly after slipping from you.  He holds you for a moment.  Neither of you saying anything.

“I better get going.”  He says finally.  Kissing your cheek and getting up.  

You watch him dress, pulling your own robe back on.  When he’s fully clothed you walk him to the door.  He leans down and kisses you one last time.  

“Steve, promise me you’ll find someone who sees you.  That you don’t have to be Captain America with.  When you do.  Go skinny dipping with them.  Don’t let them take Steve from you.”  You say.

He touches your cheek and runs his thumb down along your jaw.  “Only if you promise to let yourself be open to someone in the future loving you.”  

He steps out the door and you watch him head to the stairs.  “I see you, Steve Rogers.”  You say.

He turns to you and smiles.  “I see you too, y/n.”

You head back inside and close the door.

// NEXT

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #angst #mixology #partings

[the-soldicr]

@ninetyscnds​ said here:

“I-I — I don’t kn-know what you mean–”

Rosa was gone, had left in the dead of night and Luke was left in the motel room with nothing but the ghosting presence of her in the room. She must have left in a hurry, because some of her clothes was still here, and now some guy was in the motel room having scared Luke awake. As the room was looked through, the guy clearly angry, Luke huddled in the corner, eyes darting over to the table full of their supplies and tools laid out. Was that what he meant?

“Sh-she’s not here, man,” he tried, fear rendering him stiff as a board. With jagged motions, he slowly tried to reach his hand over to grab the rest of their H, trying to hide it from view in case the intruder wanted to steal it.

“-n-not here, I-I-I don’t know where she went, okay? Can’t h-help you- j-just, leave me alone-”

James didn’t want to believe it.

He’d go through Hell and back a million times over. He’d let himself be BAIT,  GLADLY  submit himself in time and time again as a prisoner of war beneath his the enemy’s raised weapons if it would mean  n e v e r  having to enter that dim, grimy motel room in a broken attempt to  d r a g  his baby sister back from the depths of WHATEVER HELL she had found herself living in these days. IT WAS  H I S  FUCKING FAULT, all the pain she felt. He knew that.

But... she wasn’t fucking there. They’d been certain, so  C E R T A I N  that was where the youngest of the Hauleys could be found. They had tracked down aliases, credit cards, following the little breadcrumbs the little runaway had accidentally dropped through the years all alone, hospitals that had marked her name down before she could dash from there, too.  Jails that kept her OVERNIGHT.    Always on the run.   Like father,  like daughter.                                    ( Not that any of them were stupid enough to say that to her face. )

You’ve gotta find her, James. You have to make sure she’s still doing OK on her own. And he’d MEANT to. He’d  P R O M I S E D  them all that he’d get her and bring her back safe.                                                                                                            She’d been FOUND.

Only, the  LAST THING  the soldier had expected to find cornered in the room he’d FORCED HIMSELF INTO was the sad and lowly drug user guarding his stash all alone, caught like a deer in headlights. It seemed their little Rosa was doing so much worse than ANY of them had previously thought.

James stopped, shoulders hunched. He shook his head vehemently in denial, taken aback by the state of the cheapest room the broke addicts could afford, at Luke’s words. She was too fucking smart for this kind of thing. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t have been HER. A case of a mistaken identity. 

Dad had FUCKED UP. He just had to have. There was no way that it was his little sister this petrified  c r i m i n a l  was rambling on about. Rosa had wanted to be an actress growing up, obsessed with plastic jewels and fashion, walking around in Mom’s clunky heels as a little girl. She’d NEVER find herself in here. Not in A MILLION YEARS, let alone in the five since he’d seen her last.

“ I don’t - ” He started, exasperated as he shined his FLASHLIGHT at her frightened lover. There was NO DENYING the status of addiction in squinted red eyes and chapped lips beneath the strength of the lumens. Hollowed out eyes stick out THAT MUCH MORE.                         “ It’s--- Rosa Hauley, you-  y o u  don’t  know her, do you? ”  James BEGGED, his voice  s h a k i n g .  He didn’t want to believe it.                                                           SHE WAS TOO GOOD FOR  T H I S ,  FOR  H I M .                       “I swear to FUCKING GOD she BETTER NOT be who you’re talking about.”

ANGER flared up behind brown eyes--- but the longer he stood there in front of him with his flashlight raised, the longer his accusatory words HUNG IN THE AIR, he knew it was useless. Shoulders dropped, confidence STRIPPED off of him. The room was under her alias. She was only fifteen when she chose the streets over the rather empty Hauley house.

        “ Please... Just... come on, man, just tell me                                             you’re NOT talking about my little fuckin’ sister... ”

#ninetyscnds #( whoops didnt mean to make this as angsty as it became ) #( just a whole lot of unexpected ouch ) #( the fam has no clue what rosa's been doing all these years ) #( they've seen some shit via paper trails but had no idea it was this bad ) #( and like - james feels so guilty for mom he cant help but feel like subsequent shit for rosa ) #( i'm lowkey excited. ) #( also i apologize for how bad his characterization may be i made him up at 14ish bc of a canon chara i adored so im tryin to salvage him ) #( lmaooo ) #( he hasn't been touched since like 2012 other than by mentioning he exists so im doin my best ) #threads. #( tbh just a guilty daddy's boy who does what he's told and tries to keep the family at least on speaking terms ) #( PERPETUALLY STRESSED ) #( dealing with thomas is a full time fucking job ) #( james: ANGERY but actually just s a d. ) #( hope its ok )

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

CANONFIC: ...Five Golden Rings...

—

25th of December

It wasn’t until the doorbell rang just before midday that he realized the slowly growing anxiety he’d been feeling all morning had a very specific trigger. Grey’s eyes had blown wide at the sound and the heavy footfalls of Nana’s paws as she ran from the kitchen out the hall towards the front door with a bunch of cheery sounding barks. He could hear a muffled voice as if acknowledging her barks from outside before he felt a squeeze on his elbow as Jo passed him from where she was putting the pastry on the top of the pie for the day to go answer the door.

Grey turned his attention back to the oven as the little yellow egg shaped timer Jo had set for the oven to be turned down for the pork started going off - it’s shrill screeching filling the kitchen over the quiet ringing beeps of his phones alarm telling him to add the potatoes into the now boiling water and the soft sounds of Jo’s playlist of ‘acceptable’ music was still playing over the Bluetooth speaker near the kitchen table. And then the alarm from Jo’s phone set for the bacon bits that were just starting to catch on the bottom of the pan for the Brussels sprouts began to join in the cacophony of noises, adding yet another thing he had to take care of right away; and Grey could almost not hear any of it as the sound of his heart beat started thudding over the top of it all in his ears.

The morning had been unusually stressful for him - especially given how nice it would have been otherwise. He’d been woken up by Jo quiet early with happy cuddles and kisses, before they had started getting ready for the day. This would not be particularly different from any other day that the hunter was at home, if it hadn’t been for the noticeable amount that the blonde was touching him in cuddles or gentle brushes of a hand against him or lips pressed to his cheek among other places. Grey wasn’t sure what had spurred the behavior on, however whatever it was made Jo seem to smile a lot and also helped smooth down the growing anxiety every time she touched him. But regardless he found himself winding tighter and tighter as he first burnt the breakfast pancakes, then the first round of bacon for the sprouts caught as well, followed swiftly by the pork not being properly defrosted despite it having been brineing for over a day and then the potatoes had strange green spots all over that he needed to cut out and prepare extra carefully. Every single element he touched seemed to develop a problem, and right beside him, Jo’s apples cooked down to a perfect golden consistency, her pie crusts rolled out and baked beautifully, and the shadow found himself sighing longingly looking at the final product that her hands had touched - both for the food itself and for how easy she made it look. And yet it took until hearing the sound of the hunters’ voices bleeding through the house to allow him to realise that it was their arrival he’d been the most tense about.

“Hey Jo-” “How’s your day going, Joey?” “Merry Christmas, Jo!”

“Hey guys, come on in - oh gifts! The trees in the lounge that way, Dean.” Jo replied happily, and Grey felt his cheeks burning hot to hear the words that the others had brought something. He figured it was all for Jo, but that in and of itself made him flush in happiness - she deserved to be spoiled by someone other than just from him for once. “I’ve got some beers in the fridge, or juice or soda for this time of day, coffee, tea? I made some eggnog too-”

“I’ll go get us stuff, Jo, you stay and catch up, I know Bobby had some hunt or other for you,” The cheery voice of the one hunter that the shadow was quite happy to catch up with bounced down the hallway, growing louder as the tall hunter began towards the kitchen. “Grey’s in the kitchen?”

“Yep! Remind him about the bacon!”

Grey started hearing that shout, spinning about to look at the fry pan in time to see the diced bacon starting to move towards more black than golden browned. “Oh fuck!” Jumping towards the fry pan, pulling it quickly from the heat and tipping the bacon bits into an awaiting bowl with a relieved sigh before turning towards the potatoes. “God damn, did I not-”

“Hey Grey, how are you doing?” The voice surprised him for a moment, before the shadow was equally surprised to see two big hands picking up the bowl of unpeeled potatoes thoughtfully. “Need a hand?”

“You any good at peeling?” “Sure thing, I guess.” “Oh man, you are a life saver, Sam. Happy holidays-” “You too. So, peel these and then in the water?”

Grey found himself nodding as the hunter moved over to the island to start working on the vegetables and the next time he span around after cranking the heat down on the oven to see the hunter also chopping and quartering the tubers before dumping them back into the bowl. The shadow felt a small part of the anxiety starting to alleviate as Sam fumbled awkwardly and clumsily at the cuts and peeling - making him feel slightly better compared to working alongside his girl.

“Thanks so so much, Sam. I really needed the help.” Grey said gently as he moved to take the broccoli and cauliflower from the fridge and began cutting them up as well and spilling them into a casserole dish. “Jo’s been amazing but-”

“She’s been a bit distracted?” Sam finished for him, a small quirk to his lip as he looked across at the other man with a wry smile. “Yeah, I’ve had much the same with Dean all morning.”

“Really?” Grey looked surprised, a brow quirking straight upwards as he carefully cut the florets from the steams. “Christmas is just that stressful, huh?”

“Not so much stressful-” “..Oh! He that excited then?” “No! Not at all. Dean, well.. Dean’s always a little too thoughtful on Christmas.”

There was a long paused between them, and Grey found himself dropping his eyes directly to the dish of vegetables awkwardly as he realized he might have just put his foot in it. That perhaps Christmas was just an exciting and fun time for Jo, rather than a typical or true human experience. That maybe the way Jo had never seemed too thrilled about the celebration until they’d been living together for almost a year was more reflective of the tradition than her usual excitement and enjoyment of the time of year. “I haven’t just upset-”

“Oh don’t worry Grey,” Sam replied, shaking his head with the smallest crease forming between his brows as the hunter frowned a little to himself. “It’s just Dean who gets emotional about it. He remembers Christmas when mom was still alive, I’ve only ever really known the uh, road-type Christmas.”

Grey definitely felt he’d put his foot in it then, spinning around and grabbing the cheese bechemel sauce off of the stove top and pouring the mixture over the florets. Absolutely definitely put his foot in it.

Coughing slightly, the shadow looked up at the other with an apologetic look. “Um... What’s... if you don’t mind me asking that is... what’s a road-type Christmas?”

The taller hunter let out a bit of a laugh as he cut more of the potatoes up and dropped them into the bowl with a thoughtful sight. “Well, definitely not like this. Dad would usually be away on some hunt, and Dean and I’d be stuck waiting around in some dinky hotel room with some beercan wreath on the door.” Sam let out another laugh and shook his head as he finished the last of the potatoes and looked at him questioningly. “In the water?” As soon as Grey gave an awkward nod of his head, the other poured them into the boiling salted water before leaning up against the counter and crossing his arms. “And come Christmas morning, if we were lucky Dad’d be back and fast asleep on the couch - but that was far less likely than the other years where there’d be a few presents wrapped up in newspaper on the table for me. Me only, never anything for Dean - if you catch my drift. Beers in the fridge?”

Grey nodded again as he covered the top of the cauliflower bake with a sprinkling of breadcrumbs and a shaking hand. The meaning was so clear, as was the soft way the hunter was speaking about his brother and the so evident desire to have a drink talking or reminiscing about those type things. Jo did it sometimes - when she had said something about making her mother’s apple pie “like Dad always liked” for Christmas last week, was the most recent time he could think of - and the shadow bit down on his lip gently watching as the other moved about grabbed himself a bottle. He could practically picture it, a small pile of shoddily wrapped gifts and as Grey flicked a glance across at the other, he figured they probably all still had their price tags on and no receipts for them.

“But Dean always tried hard to give us a good holiday.” The other continued talking as he cracked the top off of his bottle and then sighed. “And sometimes Dad’d drop us off at Bobby’s instead - so I think having him around might just help Dean relax a little. That, and Jo of course.”

“Yeah, of course.” Grey replied quietly as he gave the potatoes a stir and pulled a tray of sprouts out of the oven before rolling them in with the bacon - staring at the bottle of Siracha that Jo had suggested earlier, before thinking better of it and pouring in a glug of the maple syrup instead. “I know Jo is real excited for you guys to be here.”

“I’m real excited for it too - I haven’t really had a proper Christmas since I left Stanford and the year before with Jess-” “Jess?” “My girlfriend. Well, I think she would have been my fiance, but I didn’t get to ask before the demons got her.” “Oh I’m so-” “Grey! Don’t worry about it. That was years ago.”

“Still, Sam, I’m sorry.” Grey shook his head and fumbled putting the sprouts back in, burning his hand on the hot metal tray and letting out a little hiss before healing it quickly at once rather than running it under the cold water - if Jo came in and thought he’d hurt himself, she would not let him hear the end of it. “I didn’t know-”

“It’s absolutely fine. I’m really looking forward to it today, and so happy you guys are going well and having us today.”

Grey flushed at the appreciative tone from the other, opening his mouth to reply before there was a gruff call from the front lounge about drinks or something to that effect. The other man shrugged a shoulder sharply for a moment before letting out a laugh and a ‘be right there’. Grabbing two bottles, he gave a short salute to the shadow before disappearing into the hall leaving Grey to tug at his apron awkwardly before focusing back on preparing their meal with slightly less anxiety than he had before hand and a little more relaxed movement as he started getting the rest of the meal together.

---

It was thankfully warm in the lounge this year - the heater being fixed over the last few years making the entire place filled with a warmth that piling on blankets couldn’t quite achieve - but it wasn’t all from the heating as Jo perched comfortably on the arm rest of the arm chair. Looking on as Bobby continued to harass the other hunter about how long it took the brothers to locate and take care of the ghost hunt they’d just finished up; the blonde smiled a little too widely at having them both around for this time of year.

“Whatever, Bobby, they mislabeled his grave-” “Oh really? I don’t think that’s what I heard from Sam.” “What’d Sammy have to say then?” “Someone went and hurt their arm and bitched and whined about digging some grave for a while.” “That was a valid complaint, we got told the wrong cemetery and there was even two named the same.”

“You didn’t think to look at the dates on it before digging?” Jo quipped up, smiling to herself as she watched Dean’s ears get redder. “But that’s fine Deano, it can take a while sometimes.”

“God, you two picking on me on today of all days.” Dean replied, scowling to himself as he flicked his feet up onto the coffee table alongside the drink Sam brought in with a sigh before disappearing back to the kitchen again. “Besides, it’s Christmas. We shouldn’t be talking shop.”

“Oh that reminds me, what was that hunt ‘bout Bobby?” Jo blinked a few times, suddenly remembering that the older hunter was bringing her a case. “You bring the files?”

“All right here for you, Jo. Suspect it might be either a witch or a siren possibly-”

Her eyes went wider at that, smiling slightly wider as the older hunter lent forward in his own chair to fish a pile of papers from his bag and slid them across the coffee table towards her instead. Picking them up and flicking through the pages, Jo bit down the pleased smile at having something she hadn’t really faced herself in a while.

“If you think it’ll be too much for one-” “Why would I think that?” “Pairs are better with sirens, Joey. Dean here could tell you how poorly his last one-” “Hey, that was an uncomfortable time for us and it wasn’t my fault.” “Just watch what you drink and make sure to bring a partner along for it.”

“I’ll check in with a few of the guys - maybe Garth or William’ll be available.” Jo replied distractedly, flipping through the pages at the police records of dead girlfriends, fiances, wives and sister’s of six different men who had all been arrested red handed and claimed they weren’t in control of themselves at the time. It smelt like a siren, but it also could very easily be the work of a coven of jealous women given how unrelated the men seemed to be. “We’ll get on it right after New Year rather than deal with windin’ ‘cross the country in this kinda traffic.”

“And if you can’t get another, let me and Sam know and we’ll divert if you need-” Jo flapped her hand at the other hunter’s offer, smiling again before she heard the high pitched beeping of the oven alarm echoing down the hall. Dean’s head jerked up as well, and she almost laughed watching as the hunter lifted his nose to the air and sniffed loudly. “Is that lunch ready?”

Jo found herself nodding and tidying up the papers into a folder quickly while the other hunters got themselves to their own feet. It was almost synchronized how the trio moved out of the room and then down into the kitchen where the shadow and tall, lanky hunter were moving about the kitchen. Jo bustled straight past to throw her file on the top of the fridge and turned about.

“Boys have a seat, relax - oh thanks Sam for gettin’ those drinks out, Dean jacket off at the table, no no Bobby you don’t need to take the cap off clearly - hun, everythin’ looks amazing.” Jo found herself slipping into the position of hostess far too quickly without realizing, pointing a hand here and there as she let out instructions while the three other hunters made their way around the table and settled down. The other man however was still tugging pans out of the oven and mashing the potatoes, cream and butter together in the dry pot. The blonde watched for a second, a soft smile on her face, before shifting behind him to untie the back of the apron they shared on different occasions and pull the fabric from around his waist with a laugh. “Hun, you can sit down too - you’ve been on your feet all mornin’.”

“Oh no, I’ve still got so much to do left.” “I can handle it, you should relax-” “Jo, it’s fine, I’d much rather finish-” “I know, just-”

As the two were still bickering back and forth as to the division of the last work, everyone froze at the sound of the front door bell ringing through the house. There was a long and quiet moment before the sound of knuckles rapping on the door began at a rapid beat, before a loud singsong voice came through the doors, “Brother~ Merry Christmas~!”

“Is that-” Jo started asking before the shadow suddenly went barrelling down the hallway, wooden masher in hand and small clumps of potato dropping in a trail behind him. The sound of the front door opening and hushed voices alongside a loud ‘But I wanted to say hi to Cupcake!’ coming down the hall settled her mind as to exactly who was at the front door.

“Jo, who’s the newcomer?” Bobby’s voice rumbled from the head seat of the table that Jo had pointed him towards, a curious yet concerned look on his face as the sounds of the shadows’ voices rose slightly with the odd barked ‘You’re not supposed to be here’ bounced down the hall. “Didn’t know you had more guests coming.”

“Sounds like it’s Grey’s sister, Shada.” “He’s got a sister?” “Yes, Dean, he as a sister. He’s also got brothers too. There are a lot of them you know.” “No need to get testy with him, Jojo. He was just asking. Is this sister staying for lunch?”

“Oh! That’s a great idea, Bobby!” Jo cried in response, turning around to put her own utensils down and move towards the door to the hall. Looking out, she let out a loud laugh at the sight of Grey trying to guide his sister out the front door, as the other shadow decked out in all black with a purple and black Santa hat tried to push her way past to the Christmas tree with a huge number of shopping bags and gift wrapped presents despite the other’s babbling. “Hey Shada!” The blonde called from the door, waving a hand as the brunette turned to spot her - an equally wide smile on both girl’s faces - before pointing a hand towards the lounge. “You can put the gifts in there and we’ll get another chair at the table.”

“Jo, what are you-” Grey asked quietly as he stepped back at the happy squeal from his sister, before the younger shadow bounced a few times on her heels and pushed her way into the lounge with a grin. “Jo...we can’t have her and them both over.” He moved along the hall, and Jo found herself smiling wider at the uncertain look on the shadow’s face before he tilted his head back at her and his eyes darted between the lounge where they could hear the odd clattering or rustle of the Christmas tree and a few of the noisier ornaments and the kitchen entry where there was the quiet yet gruff sounds of the hunters talking. “Can we?”

Jo paused for a moment, before smiling even wider as she stepped into the other’s space, an arm going up around his neck as she pulled him down gently for a sweet kiss at his concerns. “Of course we can, the more the merrier!”

---

Lunch hadn’t been nearly as tense as he had thought it might be.

Which really meant, that he was sat on needles the whole duration - hissing quietly when his sister stared a little too long and appeared to tilt her head a little too listeningly towards any other person at the table, mumbling awkward thanks to the flurry of compliments that came from both Sam and Jo regarding the food, and trying not to focus too hard on the way both Dean and Bobby would occasionally stare at himself or Shada a little too disconcertingly - but nothing seemed to go terribly wrong. That was probably all down to Jo’s peacekeeping and bubbly nature more than any work from himself, but Grey couldn’t help but let out a heavy sigh as he finished emptying the last of the leftover roast vegetables and a slice of pork into the last Tupperware container to be stored in the fridge for a later meal.

Jo had turned on her heel and within a minute had a sixth space made up at the table between Grey at the opposite end of the table to Bobby and Dean on one of the sides. The shadows were sat next to one another as well as one Winchester facing the perk brunette and one on the other end, while Jo’d placed herself in the perfect spot to get up and down frequently to refill glasses or bring over more apple sauce and gravy. It had been tense for all of three minutes before Sam asked Shada about her Christmas traditions and the whole table got a laugh out of the jingle of the girl’s buckles on her shoes and her exclamation that it was her first ever Christmas celebration. It seemed to put the two remaining hunters at ease to consider that there was no way they could make such an auspicious occasion go poorly. It possibly also helped that the brunette shadow had turned her attention quickly to the hunter next to her and begun to flirt up a storm - if Dean’s cheeks were less that red for a whole minute of lunch, it had to be a minute that Grey didn’t get to see himself.

Conversation had flowed mostly calmly, excluding one long tense moment when the oldest hunter made some comment about how normal the event seemed to be going “considering” that both shadows jerked uncomfortably about; as well as a brief staring match between Dean and Shada after Jo’d lent over the table in her almost gaping sweater to pass the other hunter a beer, and the time when Jo asked quietly but unfortunately in a lull in the other conversations if Sam had “seen any familiar faces recently” that caused both other hunters to query her meaning and the two involved to glow bright red themselves. Grey overall sat mostly quietly and outwardly calmly, as he fought to keep himself from talking over or shooing out his sister every few minutes, and to keep from apologizing for the sixteenth time for the bacon being a little too crispy or the pork crackling being a little under done.

But otherwise, everything had gone well - and as the sound of barking from the dog could be heard from the laundry as it hit near two in the afternoon, Jo had gotten up with a clap of her hands and a suggestion they move to the lounge for “pie, presents and maybe Die Hard” for the afternoon while Jo took Nana to the backyard and Grey put the leftovers away. Grey’s eyes had widened at the idea, right up until Sam’s mitt of a hand had laid on his shoulder and there was a whispered promise that his sister would be fine for a few minutes.

“You doin’ okay, Grey?” The voice surprised him, and the shadow almost dropped the lid he was putting into place as he looked up to see the soft smile he was receiving. Jo’s cheeks and nose were bright pink from the cold wind out the back, and the fluffy dog’s own nose was pressed sharply against his leg begging for the last big of pork that he quickly fed her. “It’s not.. I hope you’ve been havin’ a good time.”

“Of course I have, Jo.” “Well, that’s good. I was worried it might be a little-” “Too much? No, pretty one, I’m going good. The hard part is all done now with the food out of the way.” “And packed away too.”

Grey let out a laugh at the grin he got then as they worked in tandem to pile the containers neatly into the fridge before Grey moved to take the whipped cream out of the fridge in return while Jo moved towards the oven where the pies had just been warming through. Bobby had already taken a few bowls and spoons through to the lounge earlier while Sam and Dean alike had taken a few beers, a couple of cans of soft drink and also a jug of extremely spiked egg nog Jo had been making batches and batches of since she’d gotten home the week before. Shada had simply bounced excitedly around, and offered but not actually helped anyone before going to the lounge with the others; and Grey couldn’t help but smile back as Jo cuddled against his side with that frilly pink apron of their’s around her own waist and two baby blue oven mitts on each of her hands.

“So just gotta get the pies out, and then Dean’ll be in such a good mood the afternoon’ll be a breeze.” Jo replied, smiling up at him widely and so sweetly that he found himself leaning in for her lips now that the stressful part of the day had gone by without any bloodshed or nastiness. She still tasted like apple sauce, and Grey almost couldn’t tell if it was the pie in the oven, the apples from lunch or the vanilla of her hair that made him think she tasted sweeter than anything else they would have that day. Jo lent equally into the kiss, the stroke of the mitt against the back of his hair made him want to laugh. “You take the cream, I’ll bring the pies?”

“Sure thing, Jo.” Grey smiled back, scooping up the bowl before heading into the lounge and only pausing to send the dog up the stairs with a gentle yet firm command and a very large rawhide bone from the secret treat box in the hall.

Entering the lounge, the shadow was almost not surprised to see his sister sitting on the arm rest of the couch closest to Dean, eyes fluttering as both parties sipped a large mug of eggnog; while Sam sat at the other end of the couch nearest the armchair that the oldest hunter had made himself comfortable in - those two talking quietly and disinterested in the other two’s behavior at all. Grey shuffled forward and sat the bowl down on the coffee table amidst the drinks with ease before pulling a few books out from in the drawers to act as heat mats as Jo came to rest her pumpkin and apple pies down right behind him.

“Now, the pies need another ten to cool down, so uh... I know I didn’t say anythin’ about presents but-” The blonde started, shuffling her feet awkwardly in a self-conscious way that Grey hadn’t seen in a while as he moved to sit down, eyes trained straight on her cautiously and concerned at the awkward scratching at her neck that was all too familiar of his own nervous tics. “Well, I’ve got some things for everyone.”

“Sounds good, Jo, we got you and Grey a few things too.” The youngest hunter replied, a genuine smile on his face as Sam tossed his head back to push back his hair for a moment. His eyes moved from Jo’s face and over to meet Grey’s, the smile tugging up a little wider at what Grey was sure was his own surprised look. “And Bobby, of course.”

“Well, at least I wasn’t the only idjit to bring something.” Bobby grumbled out in response, fiddling with his cap before he reached out for his beer with a groan. “Sorry to the other- to Shada for not knowing she would be here.”

“Oh? Oh no. No that’s..” Grey was actually surprised to see how quickly his sister noticed the comment, as well as at the slight blush that started across her face. Shada tossed her hair back for a moment as she laced her fingers together over her crossed knee with a small smile. “That’s absolutely fine, mister. I didn’t know I would be here too.”

“Well, I couldn’t very well send you away!” Jo cried in response, an almost horrified look on her face at the idea before she turned towards the tree and clapped her hands a bit. “Regardless, I’ll start handin’ out for everyone then, right?” At the sound of murmured agreement - as well as one lone whine from Dean about eating the pie regardless of how hot it was - the blonde moved over to the tree and began handing out both boxes and bags of varying sizes to the other hunters.

Grey could feel his own cheeks burning when he recognized three of them as his own wrapping and gifting attempts - and he caught Jo’s eye as she handed the last of them to Dean, a small twinkle of mischief in her eye that made him flush at the realisation he hadn’t been as sneaky as he thought buying and then hiding them just in case it wasn’t on the cards for the day.

The next moment the room was filled with the very loud and tone deaf sound of a harmonica screech, and all eyes went straight to the lighter haired hunter, with the instrument to his lips and a twerk of a grin to them as well. “Fucking hell, Jo, how’d you know?” Dean asked as he lowered the silver, engraved instrument with a laugh. “Now I can really drive Sammy nuts with my drive to be Cool Hand Luke.”

“Oh you know me, I pick things up.” “You’re a goddamn menace you know that?” “Would you rather the 20-pack of socks and jocks I thought to get you instead.” “Of course, not. And, uh, thanks for the new journal yo- uh, Grey.”

“You’re welcome.” The shadow replied, the flush still in full force as he noticed the way the hunter seemed to stroke the empty leather bound journal - so similar to the three seperate ones that Grey had seen Jo carry around with her constantly when preparing for a hunt - that he thought the other might need a fresh one of. “I, uh, hope it comes in handy. I know that Jo goes through them like Nana goes through chew toys.”

“It definitely will. Thanks again you two.” Dean’s own smile was a little wider than Grey had ever seen it, and as the hunter lent forward and took another large gulp of his eggnog drink, he couldn’t help but realise Jo had managed to find the best way to keep the other in a good mood came from a bottle and was mixed with the sweet and subtle spice of the drink of the season. “What’d you end up gettin’ Sammy?”

“Some new books and a- Jo, are you trying to say something?” “What? Me? Never!” “I know that’s a lie and a half if I ever heard one.” “Oh what? Just cause I thought you could use somethin’ to keep track of all those damn walks you take.” “A fucking FitBit though?” “Seemed like a good idea at the time!”

The pair of younger hunters both were laughing though, and Grey could tell there were no hard feelings as Jo moved around to squish herself into the arm chair alongside him as Sam cracked open the box of the device the other had gotten him. Grey was just glad that Sam had seemed more pleased with the small trio of sci-fi novels that he’d gotten for the other to give him something to read other than work for once.

The eldest hunter was chuckling to himself as well, looking between the bottle of liquor Jo had gotten him and the pages and pages of paper that Grey had painstakingly translated the last book Jo had borrowed from the other written in Enochian for him. It had seemed like a strange idea at the time for a gift, but not knowing the other well enough to go out and buy anything - and seeing Jo struggling with her eyes cramping and rubbing her temples when Grey had watched her trying to do it for himself, the idea had just stuck with him. It wasn’t a particularly helpful book in his mind - mostly just descriptions of how Heaven functioned rather than anything of note for a hunter like Bobby - but it would save the other a lot of stress and time, Grey was absolutely sure of that.

“Oh, let me give you yours next you two!” The other shadow had watched patiently and quietly as the three hunters had unwrapped their own gifts, but as soon as it was clearly they were more focused on viewing their own items and distracted, she was out of her perch and piling the huge number of bags towards Jo and Grey. “I really hope you enjoy them! Some are from our little sister too.”

“I’m sure we will.” Grey replied congenially as he shifted his weight slightly so Jo could slip more comfortably into the chair space tightly beside him, an arm wrapping around her waist as the blonde started to tear open carelessly her own gifts with a smile. Both shadows missed the confused look on the blonde’s face, but Grey was tickled pink at the idea of their youngest and newest sister was already embracing human culture and holidays so quickly.

“Oh Shada, you shouldn’t have!” Jo looked down at the sheer pile of presents, and even more wide eyed as she opened them and laid each new item of clothing or accessory gently out into a nice folded pile on her lap. There were a few dresses - one that Grey caught sight of the plunging neckline of and could feel the flush of his cheeks rising again imagining getting to take Jo out somewhere in that some day soon - and a few warmer coats and boots - all extremely practical but clearly expensive designers that the other had gone out of her way to collect. There was also a tiny baby pink wrapped gift that held a baby pink dog lead in it that matched the baby pink dog chew toy that had been in a pink wrapped box for the shadow - both marked “For Doggie’s Parents”. Grey found his own pile much the same growing as well, and when they’d both finished with their own gifts, Jo placed her pile ontop of his own and gave a small nod before the shadow quickly vanished them away upstairs before the other hunters could notice.

“You’re so so welcome, cupcake! I’m sure brother will like some too.” “Shada.” “What? I have fantastic taste, and I know how gorgeous your little human is.” “...Shada-” “Oops! But it’s true, and you both definitely need a little bit of a style upgrade quality wise.”

“Shada...” Grey growled the name out for a third time, pinning his sister with a sharp look as the other appeared to focus more upon her nails before a rather sizeable black wrapped box and the smaller box he knew to contain a present from him and Jo both were placed upon the shadow’s lap by the blonde. “I’m in half a mind to take those back.”

“Oh no, you couldn’t! Please don’t.” “Don’t worry, Shada, he’s only teasin’.” Jo cut in before he could, a smile plastered widely upon her face as she moved towards the other end of the coffee table to look over the pages all three other hunters were pouring over from Bobby’s own present.

“Fine, you can have them.” Grey added, smiling gently at his sister as she unwrapped the smallest box carefully - the paper folded neatly the same way that he had done his own - before she cracked open the jewelry lid to see the engraved silver locket necklace Jo had picked out for this very reason. “Jo, uh, picked the locket and I-”

“Oh my...” Shada’s voice was practically a whisper as she popped open the locket to see the tiny drawings inside - one half filled with a sketch from a photo of the pair of siblings staring up at her, and the other half a tiny landscape painting of the lake at sunrise with the glow of the sun that never quite happened in their native home. “You...you didn’t need to-”

“I had said I wished I could give you a painting, and, well, Jo suggested you could have something to always take it with you.” The shadow stumbled oved his words, twisting his hands nervously as he watched the other stare down at the locket in silence for a long second before she raised her eyes, a little bit watery but definitely happy, towards him. In a flash the necklace was around her neck, and her fingers were stroking over the intricately carved face of the locket with a very small but significant smile on her face. Grey coughed slightly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’m not sure what else we got you though-”

“I love surprises!” Shada replied, slightly squealing before definitely squealing as she got the wrapping paper off to see a shoe box with the label of some designer or other looking up at her. Grey felt his own eyes widen before darting across to where Jo was getting lessons on how to play the harmonica really poorly from Dean, shocked to see the brand name and the classic red bottoms when the lid came off to reveal the purple, crystal covered heels. “Oh. Mother. You guys didn’t...”

“No, I think, uh, that’s um... that’s all from Jo.” “Please tell me you’re going to keep her forever, brother. Pretty please.” “What?!” “Whatever the term those humans use... Marry? Mary? Mary Aged? Please tell me you’ll do it, because she will be the best sister I’ve ever had.”

“Don’t worry, Shada, she’s not going anywhere.” Grey mumbled the words out quietly as he bit down on his lip gently, looking across and catching Jo’s eye as she looked between the two shadows curiously at their almost silent conversation. He knew that she would ask him about it later, but that gave him plenty of time to come up with a cover story for the blonde as he caught his sister stroking each of her presents one after the other out of the corner of his eye.

There was a long moment where the air was soft before Dean pushed himself away from the small group of hunters to fish out four gifts from the diminishing pile - one going to each of the other hunters, and then one small rectangle held out to Grey. “Merry Christmas or whatever, yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks Dean. You too.” He replied gently as he took the gift, slowly unwrapping the newspaper wrapping as he had with all the others as if there was no different between the use of the newspaper or wrapping paper alike. Inside was a small water color paint palette which Grey found himself smiling over. “Really, thank you. This is really useful and nice.”

“No problem, man. I’m... glad you like it.” “I just had some of my other paints crack, so I really do appreciate it.” “Oh, well, that was good timing then. Sammy had said you were artsy.” “That’s one word for it.”

Grey found himself chuckling as he replied, shifting in his seat to lean into the coffee table drawers to pull open the one he stored most of his arts materials in with a smile. He looked up as he slid the palette away to see the hunter also smiling, a little too bemused.

As Bobby and Jo also thanked Dean for their gifts - a new EMF reader for Jo and a bottle of some obscure whiskey for Bobby - Sam too handed out his presents for the rest of them. Grey was unsurprised to find his was a set of paint brushes, but you could never have too many, and they went straight in the drawer with his thanks as well.

“Jo, you forgot to get yours from me from down there before.” Grey quipped quietly as the blonde had finally moved back to share a hug with the still awestruck shadow-girl as Sam and Bobby began talking about the benefits of one whiskey over another at Sam’s gift for the older hunter being much the same as the other two’s. “It’s the yellow one.”

“I forgot yours too.” Jo chirped back, though as she moved towards the tree to pick up the decently sized gift which held a blue sweater, some sunflower earrings he thought she would like, and a more polished sketch of the two of the lake they’d visited the last month together with the dark sillohettes of two people pressed up against each other a tree that he thought she might like a momento of - Grey couldn’t help but notice how bright a blush was forming across her face and the way her fingers shook a little as she handed him a very thin envelope. “I, uh, hope you get to, um, really enjoy it.”

Grey waited until he’d seen her unwrap and smile brightly - fingers running across the sketch gently to avoid smudging it, before actually putting her earrings straight in instead of the gold sleepers she usually wore - before he slid a finger under the envelope flap and pulled out the rather simple looking Christmas card curiously. Raising a brow at Jo, who he noticed had gotten even darker a flush on her cheeks, he flipped open the card before sucking in a breath in surprise at the first thing he saw. There was a small stack of polaroids in the card, and all clearly fairly recent since the dark blue comforter on the bed that Jo had only changed over to in the last week was visible beneath the long, tan legs in the photo. His brain took a moment to catch up with his eyes to the sexy posing and the array of five differently designed lingerie sets that the blonde sported in the photos of her on their bed, but when it did his fingers twitched with the desire to find out if she had one of them, if any, on right then and there under her baggy sweater and jeans. “I...”

“What’d you get, Grey?” Sam’s voice cut over his thoughts and he continued to flick back and forth between the pictures, drinking in the expanses of skin as well as just how pretty the designs of the lingerie Jo picked out where, before shaking his head and noticing one more thing in the card being two tickets to the new Star Wars film.

“Just some movie tickets-” “Really, Jo? You got him movie tickets?” “Fuck off Dean, it’s none of ya business.” “But movie tickets? Why would you get him movie tickets when you got me Loubs, cupcake?” “I just...”

“I am definitely looking forward to seeing my gift with Jo later, guys.” Grey cut across the teasing and picking that was starting, eyes barely being able to be drawn away from the pictures in his hand before he let out a cough and jerked his eyes over to Jo’s blushing face. Smirking a little, the shadow slid his card and gift back into the envelope before disappearing them upstairs as well, leaning towards the blonde with an unconsciously hungry look. “I am certain I’m going to enjoy it very much.”

There was a long moment before the sound of a cough distracted the pair, eyes going wide when they both jerked their heads to see a knowing look on the oldest hunter’s face as he moved out of his chair with a groan. “If you two are quite done talking about... whatever other than movie tickets was in that card. I’ve got you two something. As well as you boys.”

“Bobby you didn’t-” “Shut up, Jo, you’re going to take it and enjoy it, okay?” “Yessir.”

Grey found himself with a lapfull of blonde in a way he was going to fight hard to ignore as the eyes of the others all fell on them as Bobby handed Jo a large leather bound photo album, and a similar but smaller one to both the other hunters to share as well. It seemed like a strange gift, given the albums were clearly not new or chosen specifically for purpose, but Grey found by the third page he didn’t much care as Jo let out a pained sounding gasp at the turn of the page. There was a photo of some baby in some man’s arms - the only part of the holder visible was a pointed scruffy beard, a leather jacket and a blue-and-grey flannel underneath - but Grey couldn’t help but look at Jo’s face in confusion as she ran her finger over it repeatedly. “What’s wrong, Jo..”

“Where did you find this, Bobby?” “Found some old things of his up in the attic last Summer.” “Some?” “Well, that photo I already had on hand, but the others-” “Others?!”

Jo let out a strange noise between a gasp and a cry as she flipped the next few pages to see more photos of what must be the same man from different angles, but somehow never a full face - always either blocked out by the sun or shade, or cut off as the focus of the photo became about the baby, then little blonde toddler, and then a little blonde girl in pigtails that stared up at the man out of the image in wonder - and Grey felt a sinking, painful knot in his stomach realizing exactly what and who he was looking at. He looked up to catch his sister’s eye, staring at Jo like any other shadow would from the range of extremely complex emotions rolling off of her like a wave, while he raised his hand to rub gently at her back.

Around the twentieth page, the photos changed from ones of the young girl and never-visible man and a dark haired woman who had a smile like Jo’s, as well as various other men in flannels or henleys with leather or khaki jackets and the little girl - one which looked surprisingly a lot like the cap-wearing hunter in the room with them, and another that looked strangely familiar but Grey couldn’t put his finger on it - before there was a rather large photo in the centre of a page with just the hunter himself and a beautiful blonde woman beside him, both smiling to the camera.

“Bobby... Who’s this?” Jo asked quietly, pointing at the photo as the older hunter shuffled over to have a look before he moved away to start cutting up slices of pie accommodatingly while the others were pouring over their photo albums - the other pair of hunters looking and pointing and smiling at various elements in their book, which Grey would steal a look of later to see mostly photos of the two of them through the years doing kid things or working on cars or playing ball with Bobby that made his heart clench all over again to see.

“That? That’s Eleanor - she was a lovely, lovely lady.” Bobby replied, piling slices of pie into a few different bowls before taking one of the apple slices for himself and sitting back down in the other armchair with a sigh and a sip of his drink. “Your man should know who that is, and I thought he might appreciate a few photos of his own.”

“What..” Grey frowned slightly, looking down at the photo again for a moment before the name clicked for him. He knew who this was staring up at him, and suddenly felt the same lurch he knew that Jo must have felt seeing the cut off chin of her father. “Is this?”

“Yeah it is, son. I’m sorry I didn’t have too many.”

The shadow basically balked at the idea that even this one wasn’t more than enough from the older hunter, and his fingers shook almost too hard as his sister slipped off of her own armrest and came to sit on his looking down in equal amounts of wonder at the photo of their Alpha smiling back up at them. He flipped gently and reverently to the next page, and was almost shocked to see what must have been a professionally taken photograph of the woman and then a third photo as well which was a closer, blurry Polaroid all of its own of the woman’s smiling face almost whited out by the sun behind her. It was something he never thought he’d see, and hadn’t expected to react to given it wasn’t really her face and body, but it was. In the same way the man he was presenting to the world was him, that was his Alpha - Eleanor - and he’d gotten to see and have photos of her now; the first of their kind to take a human form and thrive in it.

“Thank you Bobby.” Jo’s voice cut over the quiet reviews happening around the room of both photo albums, her throat a little tighter still than it usually would be, and Grey couldn’t help but continue to rub at her back soothingly. “Just went and fuckin’ blew us all away, why don’tcha?” The blonde added teasingly, her nose slightly stuffy giving it a nasal sound as she sniffed quietly from what Grey knew would absolutely be unshed tears until everyone left later that night.

“When you get to my age, missy, you’ll be able to do the same thing.” The hunter replied, lifting his drink to his lips as his eyes moved across each little group as the Winchester’s both looked towards him adoringly in return, and Jo’s own face was flushed and smiling gently at him. Grey was surprised to find that the hunter’s eyes moved to his sister for a moment before meeting his dead on for a long moment as Bobby added, echoing the very though running through Grey’s own mind. “And you’ll be thankful to be able to do so, and to get to spend the holidays with your family after it all.”

—

#cc #jopov #greypov #ca #fic

[sabraeal]

Merry & Bright: Chapter 7

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

He should be over this.

(Doc makes him pull off the highway somewhere near Florence, South Carolina; she’s got an actual travel itinerary that Yuzuri helped her program into some app that includes mandatory stretch breaks because she’s concerned about good circulatory health, and – god, that really shouldn’t be doing anything for him, but it does, it does, and he’s a real idiot thinking that this is a good idea –

“It’s an overlook,” she tells him proudly as they park, smile stretching far too wide for the amount of time they’ve been in a cramped car with a week’s worth of stuff and a Christmas’s worth of gifts. “A stretch and a view!”

He swallows down a protest that it hasn’t even been two hours since they grabbed lunch – some little place that served fish in Switzerland, the only one where the whole menu wasn’t deep fried – and heaves himself out of the car, only to find that it’s – it’s not as easy as it should be.

“Yowch,” he mutters, rubbing at his back. He’s been a total knot of stress since they started north, he’s aware, but –

But god, his back is reminding him of every hit he ever took, and when he throws his arms up, bending back, he has a real moment of worry that it’s going to take an uncomfortable drive and an emergency room bill to get him upright. He’s only twenty-five, he shouldn’t be worrying about this shit.

“Obi?” she chirps, skipping over to him with a concerned look on her face. “Are you okay?”

A choir of angels sing Hosanna when his back relents, letting him snap upright. “Yeah, just fine. Had to, uh, get a kink out. You know how it is.”

Doc gives him a skeptical look, and – listen, he knows she won’t do anything but tut at him and fish out some all-organic Icy/Hot or whatever she’s got hiding in their pharmacy bag, but she’ll also tell Yuzuri, and he knows, he knows that will mean he’ll get a half dozen :3 :3 :3 texts followed by something like, gotta keep that back healthy if ur gonna rob that cradle already, and he doesn’t need that. Not this trip.

“Okay,” she says finally, mouth in a thoughtful pout. “But let me know if you need anything.”

He just manages to close his lips around, for us to turn south already. “Sure thing, Doc. I’ll be the first in line for your tender ministrations the second I have an excuse.”)

It would’ve been a hit to his pride to have turned around before he ever got here, before he even attempted to walk through the door, but Obi would have taken it if it meant dread wouldn’t be his constant companion.

That’s what he’d thought being in this house would be; just constant dread, like realizing he’s in the wrong bathroom, or watching his favorite movie as a kid again as an adult, wondering if it would still hold up. Just a week of waiting for the other shoe to drop, and wondering if it would right in front of Doc.

He’d survived it though, cookie in his mouth and arm slung around Doc’s shoulders, with nothing worse than a flash of hesitation before walking straight back into his childhood.

But now, with Todd and Kelly Ann trailing behind him and the stern set of Gayle’s mouth looming in front of him --

It’s different. Like being right back in high school, black cocert T-shirt for a band that broke up before he was born and jeans ripped at the knees, just waiting to find out how he’s been a disappointment today.  The past is a ghost he can’t shake, something that clings to him even when he tries to step out from under it’s shadow.

Doesn’t help that there’s so many people waiting to see him fail to do it, either.

“Obi!” Doc springs up from the floor, all coltish limbs, practically tripping over herself. God, this is really what he’s into now; messy hair and thick tights, barely able to keep her balance with her shoes off, someone who watched vegan cheese not melt and still could say something nice about it.

She tucks herself against his side, head fitting against the girdle of his shoulder like it was meant to be there and –

And he doesn’t even regret it. Who the fuck cares about girls with Barbie heels and legs for days; Doc can barely keep her hair in a barrette and he just – wants it. Wants the way he hooks her hair back around her ear to be real.

She stares up at him, all eyes. “You’re --?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, letting his fingers linger on the hollow behind her ear just a second too long before adjusting his hold on her, his arm draping over the line of her shoulders like it belongs there. “Everything’s as sorted as it’s gonna get.”

The worry won’t shake from her, not like he wants it to. There’s no way he’s going to be able to relax in this house, not with memory waiting to ambush him around every corner, but he just – doesn’t want her to worry about it either, about whether everyone here likes him enough, or is recognizing his accomplishments, or – whatever it is she’s looking for. He doesn’t know how to tell her that it’s fine, that he’s done enough to know that forgiveness doesn’t grow on trees, and there may not be enough for what he’s done.

He drags his gaze away, trying to escape the worry, the guilt – only to find the same on Gayle’s face, that tight-lipped concern that makes him want to squirm right out from the microscope he’s under.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to survive it for long.

“Laila!” Kelly Ann rounds the couch, hands on her hips. “You’ve been letting Shirayuki play too, haven’t you? You can’t be all the animals.”

“I let her be the baby,” the girl says, unconcerned, making giraffes escape their pen to play with penguins.

“Laila --”

“It’s fine!” Doc is quick to assure her. “The baby had fun watching all the animals play.”

The distraction may have gotten Doc’s look off him, but Gayle isn’t deterred, not the slightest bit.

“Well, I was just about to start in on dinner,” she says, gaze shifting behind him. “Todd, Obi, do you boys think you could see your way to helping out an old woman?”

Todd’s not standing anywhere near close to him, but Obi knows he tenses like he does, knows that they both looks like cats with their backs up –

“Oh, Gayle!” Doc lurches under his arm, like she’s torn between staying right where she is and shoving herself forward. “Please, let me help! Todd just got here.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Gayle huffs, waving her off. “You’re a guest, and Todd’s used to being put to work. Besides you should save up your strength – I’ll have you in the kitchen tomorrow, anyway.”

“Some guest,” Todd laughs. “Can’t work tonight but you’ll be putting her through her paces in the morning?”

“You know how it is around here,” Gayle tells him airily. “Two days and then you’re family.”

God, his chest shouldn’t ache like this. “It’s fine, Doc,” he says, rubbing her arm before he steps away. “What could go wrong in a room full of knives?”

She looks anything but convinced. “But --”

“Oh, leave them to it,” Kelly Ann says with a roll of her eyes. “Take advantage of the reprieve now – you’ll wish you had it in three days, once Gayle’s got you.”

“I don’t --”

“Come on, you can help me,” she says, catching Doc by the shoulders. “I have so much Doc McStuffins to watch.”

Laila shrieks, hands slamming on the floor as she turns to look at her mom. “I love Doc McStuffins.”

“Fancy that,” Kelly Ann deadpans, mouth twitching at the corners.

“Go ahead,” Obi murmurs to Doc when she hesitates. “I’ll live.”

She gives him a long look, then nods. “Sounds great.”

Obi’s not quite sure what possesses Gayle to put knives in their hands, but here they are, Todd on one side of the island and Obi on the other, butcher block cutting boards abutting each other as they dice vegetables. She’s even gone and turned her back on them, humming along with the Christmas songs on the radio, water steaming up from the sink as she hand-cleans her kitchen aid attachments, made back when Eisenhower was probably president.

“Truck still treating you right, Todd?” Gayle asks, lifting her voice over the stream.

“Yeah, yeah,” he calls back, shooting an uncertain glance at Obi. “Haven’t had any trouble with it since the last time.”

“Well, Bob’s already talked to Jesse,” she presses, like always. “He says he’ll look at it when he comes.”

“Aw, Gayle,” Todd sighs, suffering. “He shouldn’t have said anything. It’s fine. All Jesse’ll do is tell me I don’t take care of it right --”

“He would know,” Gayle reminds him.

“—And he’ll give me, you know, a talk.” Todd huffs. “Probably try to say something about women being engines on top of that.”

“Jesse still works at the garage?” Obi asks, know the moment he says it that it’s – dumb. It’s been six years, no one’s who he remembers except in the worst ways.

“Didn’t we tell you?” Gayle cocks her head at him. “Jesse owns his own now. Went into business with that friend of his. You remember – Scott?”

“Shane,” Todd and Obi supply at the same time. Todd glares.

“Right, Shane.” Gayle smiles. “They’ve been doing well.”

“You’d know that if you stuck around,” Todd mutters, just loud enough for Obi to hear him, and for Gayle to not.

“You done with those onions, Obi?” she asks, bright.

“Yeah, got them all chopped up here.” He points at a bowl that’s seen more of his tears than the past six years all together. “You need them somewhere.”

She drops a metal bowl between them and shoves a few handful of onions in. “Why don’t you boys mix that up and start putting the meatballs on the tray to bake. I’ll get the rest of this in the sauce.”

They give each other a wary look, but they drop their knives, mixing meat and veg and breadcrumbs up until it’s even –

“And now that you boys can’t get away,” Gayle says, hands coming down hard on the island. “Let me tell you how things are going to be.”

“What?” Todd says, the same time Obi manages an, “Erk?”

“I know you both have never seen eye-to-eye –“ Todd opens his mouth to protests, and Gayle holds up a hand – “don’t care whose fault y’all think it is, or why. That’s between you boys, ‘less you make it involve me.”

They both nod.

“That being said, you’re gonna get along this Christmas,” she tells them, firm. “You’re men, not boys, and I won’t have you ruining the whole thing for everyone just because you think you have bad blood between you.”

“But --”

“And Lord help me, if I catch either of you sniping at each other in my hearing, I will put you both into the dog house.”

Obi coughs, nervous. “Well, the Baron’s got some nice digs --”

“Not the Baron’s,” she clarifies with frightening calm. “Millie’s.”

Obi grimaces, remembering the dilapidated old thing for a dog he’d been too late to see.

“We took that down, three years back,” Todd protests, “you can’t --”

“Then I will make you put a tent in its place and share it until you both can act like civilized people.” Her hands fist on her hips. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” they both chorus.

“Good,” she says, firm. She turns back to the sink, like the last three minutes of threats have all just been a figment of their imagination. “Now remember, those meatballs are supposed to be tablespoon-sized, boys.”

It’s a blessing that kids’ shows don’t have any sort of continuity at Laila’s age; Shirayuki doubts that she’d be able to say a single thing about what’s been happening on the screen for the last hour, let alone tracking some sort of – of plot. It’s been hard enough to not to find some excuse to put herself in the kitchen, to make sure that Obi isn’t just suffering his slights silently, trying not to make a circus out of it for Gayle –

A hand presses firmly against her knee.

“You’re shaking the couch,” Kelly Ann tells her, voice pitched low. “Worrying about it won’t make it go any better for him.”

She knows that, she does, but not thinking about it won’t help either, and she feels like she owes him a little bit of suffering, if she’s making him face it alone –

“Besides.” Kelly Ann settles back, her arm sprawling over the back of the couch. “Gayle’s raised Todd half his life. Don’t think she doesn’t know what his sniping looks like.”

That…is a good point.

“Don’t want to interrupt your girl time.”

Shirayuki startles, twisting up on her knees to see Obi leaning in the doorway, mouth rucked up in a smirk.

“You’re not interrupting,” she assures him, a little too breathless. “Just -- watching some stuff?”

“Doc McStuffins,” Laila corrects huffily. “Not stuff.”

“Right, well.” Obi shrugs his shoulder. “When you’re done with that, Gayle says it’s time for dinner.”

Laila’s head whips around, eyes narrowed. “What’s for dinner?”

“Worms,” he says easily. “She said it was your favorite --”

“Ewwwww.” She looks at Kelly Ann. “Mommy, I don’t want to --”

“It’s meatballs and pasta,” Kelly Ann sighs. “Not worms.”

Laila glares at Obi. “But why would he say --?”

“He’s teasing, Laila-girl.” Kelly Ann glances back at him as well. “That’s what he likes to do best.”

“Well, I do like pasta and meatballs,” Laila tells him magnanimously, getting to her feet. “We can have dinner now.”

Obi gets that look in his eye, but Shirayuki is much, much to far away to whisper don’t and have him hear. “Thank you for your permission, your majesty.”

Without a single hint of irony, Laila lifts her chin, imperious as any royal. “You’re welcome.”

For once, Obi seems speechless, just watching the tiny girl sweep past. Kelly Ann barely muffles a snort.

“You should know better,” she tells him, patting his cheek as she walks by. “You don’t need to encourage little girls to be princesses.”

Shirayuki means to grab him in the hall, before dinner, but with Laila and Kelly Ann just ahead of them, there’s no privacy, no good way to pull him aside and ask – ask –

If he’s okay. If this is all getting to be a little too much for him, now that there seems to be an endless stream of disapproving siblings added to this already full emotional powder keg. If –

If it’s all right that she knows about Shannon. If this is a thing she’s supposed to talk about, or – or if she should forget she ever heard anything. Families have secrets, she knows that; every one has things they all know but pretend they don’t, just to keep the peace, but --

But she’s not used to being a part of that, not when it was always just her and Oma and Opa, and –

And it’s not until she sees it – dining room table with the leaves in, covered in a tablecloth and festive runner, dishes steaming where they sit on the table – that she realizes how long it’s been since she’s done this. Since she’s had a family dinner.

Obi’s elbow jostles her in the doorway. “Can’t eat with your eyes, Doc. C’mon, let’s go sit.”

She stumbles in, feet numb, sliding into a chair next to him. There’s been dinners out, of course, times she and Obi have cooked for Yuzuri and Suzu and Ryuu, times she’s been at Shidan’s house at dinner time and been fed a little of what everyone’s having, the team dinners that involve either pizza or barbeque being shipped in from across town, but –

That’s not this. That’s not – that’s not family stuff.

It’s like she has two left hands, both of them too dumb and clumsy to do anything but clutch at the napkin in her lap. She doesn’t trust herself to touch anything, not when she can feel them shaking in her lap, when the thorny prickle of tears sits in her throat.

“Hey.” Obi’s familiar warmth bumps into her side. “Would you like some pasta, Doc?”

It’s a relief to look at him, to see the warm smile on his face and concern in his eyes, and just nod.

He doesn’t say anything else, just grabs the serving bowl full of penne and starts rolling a few onto her plate.

“That fine, D--?” He hesitates, knuckles whitening on the serving spoon. With a quick glance up, he angles a little more toward her and corrects, “--Babe?”

He...really does not need to drop his voice like that, if he’s going to -- to call her that here. There’s a child, for goodness sake.

She glances quickly across the table, and there’s Todd, watching them with an expression far too smug for her liking.

“Um, yeah,” she manages, hoping everyone thinks her blush is from how warm the room is, and not -- not anything untoward. “Thanks, um...” She can feel Todd’s eyes on her, interested, and -- and what would Obi’s girlfriend call him --?

She panics. “...Sexy?”

The sauce ladle clanks noisily against her plate, but Obi catches the handle before it can topple over into her pasta.

“Good,” he coughs, setting it safely away from him. It’s always hard to tell with Obi, but she could swear there’s pink dusting over his cheekbones. “Glad to be of service.”

Shirayuki ducks her head, trying to focus on the food in front of her. If she’s cutting her meatballs into precise quarters, she can’t be -- be blushing over Obi, and as long as there’s food in her mouth she doesn’t have to talk or look at anyone --

Laila clears her throat, pointed. “Aren’t we gonna do grace?”

Shirayuki jolts, dropping her fork to her plate, and – and there’s not a single adult at the table who isn’t wearing an identical grimace of guilt. There’s forkfuls of pasta already en route to mouths, drinks raised to lips, hands tearing off bits of steaming garlic bread. Even Bob is trying to subtly swallow a mouthful of meatball, which at least makes the penne hanging out of Obi’s mouth less of a transgression.

All eyes shift, looking towards the authority at the table, and Gayle sighs.

“Now, honey,” she says, smoothing her napkin over her lap. “You know that when we have guests, we don’t make anyone say it.”

“But I wanna do it,” Laila whines, shrinking in her seat.

Kelly Ann sighs. “Laila --”

“I don’t mind,” Shirayuki offers, setting her fork aside, trying not to drip sauce onto the tablecloth. “Please don’t feel like you can’t on my account.”

“Me either.” Obi grins down at Laila, giving her a wink. “Take it away, kid.”

Their only warning is the cock-eyed grin she gives, before she launches into, “Good food, good meat, good God let’s eat!”

“Laila --”

“AMEN,” she tacks on, shoving a meatball straight into her mouth and grinning at her mother.

Kelly Ann is fit to be tied, hands on her hips, cheeks blown out with all the scolding she’s fit between them –

Bob breaks first.

His shoulder shake, his eyes screw shut, and for a good second Shirayuki’s afraid he’ll fly apart like a motor under too much strain, until –

Until his laugh bursts out of him, so hard he’s hitting his hand against the table, like he needs to tap out.

“Dad,” Kelly Ann gasps, scandalized, but it’s too late, now that Bob’s broken the seal, none of them can keep it in.

Shirayuki has to bury her face behind a napkin, trying to cover up the tears running out of her eyes, trying to avoid the glares Kelly Ann is trying to send all of them.

“That’s a good one,” Obi tells Laila, and then shoves in his own mouthful.

Kelly Ann glares. “Don’t encourage her.”

Obi shrugs, shooting her a bolder grin than Shirayuki would dare.

“So,” Todd interjects, stabbing his pasta with a bit more force than necessary. “How’d you two meet? I haven’t heard the story.”

Obi has never looked happier to have his mouth full. Shirayuki sighs. “We met sophomore year. I transferred in a month into the first semester. Obi and I shared a coffee shop.”

Because he was following me, is the part of the story she leaves out.

“Transferring a month in?” Todd takes a drink. “Sounds like a story.”

Her fingers ache where the edge of the fork digs into them. “I --”

She doesn’t know how to do this, how to make black fingernails and Rohypnol and weeks of fruitless litigation into dinner-talk, into a nice little package that somehow leads to – to this. To a long term boyfriend and romantic moments and family dinners.

Especially since it didn’t.

It’s easy to leave out the worst parts of things between her and Obi, to leave out what remains of Zen in those first few years, but she doesn’t know how to invent something wholesale that isn’t just…a complete lie.

Because that’s important, somehow. That she doesn’t lie. That even with all the pretending, Obi’s family knows her.

And they can’t do that, not if she makes up some story about -- about switching majors, or moving closer to home, or whatever reason someone could have that isn’t potential sexual assault.

But she doesn’t have to.

“It is,” Obi says, with the sort of finality that says the topic is done.

She’d expect Todd to pick, to pry, but his gaze shift to her, assessing, and instead says, “So y’all live in Florida?”

“For now,” Obi says, letting her pick at her meal. “We’re doing our PhD down there, but I think the eventual plan is Boston.”

-- It’s just disappointing. Zen sighs, and she knows she deserves it, deserves his frustration. It just feels like you aren’t even planning on coming back, sometimes --

She nearly bites her tongue. “I mean, maybe. That’s – a good place to start looking.”

Obi’s head snaps toward her, a question in his eyes, but she looks down, finding her side salad engrossing.

“You live close by to each other?” Todd asks, so innocent.

“Oh, we – we share an apartment,” she says, not even thinking. Todd’s eyes take on a triumphant gleam, and she knows she’s given him exactly what he wanted.

His gaze darts to Gayle. “Oh, so you live together?”

Obi’s mouth pulls flat, but with a look at Laila, he keeps it shut.

“Did you hear that?” Todd presses, when Gayle doesn’t even blink. “Obi and Shirayuki live together.”

“Todd,” she says, turning the most unimpressed, motherly look on him. “Of course they do! You know expensive rent is.” She turns a bright smile to the both of them, radiating approval. “And I must say, they keep the place looking lovely. Don’t they, Bob?”

“Well, we didn’t get the grand tour,” Bob allows, reaching for the garlic bread, “but they got quite a cozy nest for themselves, from what I’ve seen.”

“Doc’s got a gift,” Obi tells them, sending her a wink. “If it was me, the whole place would be in black.”

Gayle rolls her eyes heavenward. “Don’t we know it.”

That sends a laugh around the table -- all except Todd, who throws himself against the back of his chair, arms folded, and lets out an annoyed huff.

“What about you, Toddy?” Obi’s grin takes on a sharp slant. “Bringing home anyone special, lately?”

Shirayuki’s half-afraid dinner is about to come to blows -- by his look, Todd does not have a special someone, and Obi clearly knew better than to ask -- but she’s saved by a timely buzz against her stomach.

“My phone!” she gasps, pulling it out from the pocket of her hoodie. “I’m so sorry! I forgot to turn it off.”

Gayle smiles. “Happens to everyone, baby girl.”

It’s not fair that -- that Obi’s family knows how to do this to her, how to make her feel warm, melty, like she’s really one of them --

She looks down, if only to blink away the sting in her eyes, and she sees big blue one staring up at her.

“Oh!” She smiles, flashing the screen at Obi. “It’s Ryuu. He just was asking if we were going to call tonight. Kirito is driving him crazy, I think.”

Obi coughs out a laugh. “Poor kid. We did warn him.”

“Ryuu?” Gayle prompts.

“He’s someone else in our program,” she says, at the same time Obi offers proudly, “He’s a kid prodigy.”

Shirayuki glances up at him. She’d been playing it safe, not giving any information Obi doesn’t offer, if she doesn’t have to, but --

But one look at him, at the pride radiating from his face, and she knows -- Ryuu isn’t someone he has to hide. That he wants to hide.

“He’s sixteen now, and starting his PhD with us,” she explains. “He was our TA, my first year at Clarines.”

“He’s not great with people,” Obi offers, “but we’re getting there with the whole…being a regular kid thing. Our boss has a nephew his age, and that’s sort of…made him normal out, a bit. You know, get used to other kids/”

“He’s a really sweet boy,” Shirayuki tells them, aware she might be -- be gushing, just a bit. “He likes to snapchat flowers to me when he’s doing fieldwork. Here, I saved a couple.”

She hands her phone down the table, and Obi pulls out his own.

“Hold up, I think I got a few of his videos too.” He flicks through his phone, engrossed. “Kirito -- his friend -- has been teaching him how to skateboard, and they’ve been recording some of it -- ah, here it is.”

He sets his phone in front of her too, eager and -- and Gayle just looks at them, eyes shining.

“Well,” she says, soft. “Doesn’t that sound nice.”

Bob reaches over, squeezing her hand. She springs to life at that, patting at her pockets.

“Let me just find my glasses,” she tells them, smile so wide it nearly splits her face. “And I’ll get a look at your boy.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #Merry & Bright #merry and bright #The Wide Florida Bay #my fic #ans #MERRY CHRISTMAS FRIENDS #welcome to Obi and Shirayuki thinking that they have to SELL this relationship #when it would honestly be harder to convince everyone they WEREN'T dating #like lbr #if they came clean to Gayle #she would be like #children....are you SURE #like...really sure? #have you TALKED about this? #because let me tell you what my eyes have seen honey children

[me-and-my-gaster]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ESSY!

Ok, so... I am so glad I got to know you, @messedupessy   , you fucking sunshine from up north, you amazing crocs flavored icicle queen, my ultimate doom when it comes to going down with ships, my bestest frozen neighbor of them all. To honor the day of your börth and to show how happy I am to have you in my life, here. Have the thing I wrote.

It’s on AO3 too now, because ye.

Two

Stretch stopped pushing the big cardboard box on the floor and straightened himself with a tired groan. He heard his joints pop and for a moment wished his brother was around to scold him for making those inappropriate sounds. Being alone in his brand new solo apartment meant there was no loud berating incoming, but the lanky skeleton smiled at the thought anyway.

He shuffled towards the kitchen, feeling it was the time for a very well deserved break and a snack. Despite his low-effort way of living, he had spent a whole day moving his things from the house he shared with Berry - something that astounded even him. Stretch was sure he was going to laze around the boxes and postpone unpacking them for months from now. He had a reputation to uphold.

There wasn’t much in the kitchen yet but he remembered he managed to snatch a bag of toast bread on his last trip to the small mall around the corner. The skeleton decided this was an appropriate reward for all the heavy lifting and being a proper adult he did.

Not really feeling like unpacking the toaster and plugging it in, Stretch resorted to simply putting a thick layer of butter and honey on a few slices. Just as he was wondering whether to bother and search for some plates he heard a soft creak behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder, Stretch saw a familiar blue hoodie right at the door sill. Immediately, he smiled at his skeleton friend and turned around to face him. His lazy grin faltered a little when he saw the weary expression on Sans’ face.

“You look tired.”, he said in a matter-of-fact tone as he looked over the smaller skeleton’s slumped frame with a worried attention.

The other skeleton was wearing his usual, non-work attire consisting of a blue hoodie, dark loose pants and, of course, pink slippers. Whatever it was that made him look so not-well at least allowed him to be comfortable.

“Maybe...”, Sans shrugged as he muttered that. “There was a skele-ton of work today. Had to stop or Paps would start searchin’ for the real me.”, he chuckled half-heartedly at his own joke.

Stretch nodded with a small smile. “Tell me ‘bout it. My bro was close to callin’ an exorcist on me too. Heh.”

The small skeleton seemed reluctant to enter the kitchen, with one of his feet still firmly on the living room floor. Stretch wasn’t surprised at that at all - it would probably take time for him to get used to the new apartment too. Every room in here still needed a lot of work (or lazying around) before it feels more... his. More like home.

“Wanna eat?”, Stretch looked at the toast sandwich in his hand and motioned at the other skeleton with it, breadcrumbs falling on the floor.

For a moment, Sans looked like he wanted to decline but that seemingly simple gesture was all he needed to shuffle towards the tall stools in the middle of the room. He sat at the table, his feet dangling over the floor and slippers threatening to fall.

It wasn’t the first time for one of them appeared in the other’s kitchen for a late evening snack, so Stretch knew that his friend would accept whatever he was preparing at that time. He continued spreading butter and honey on the toasts after he took a few more slices from the bag.

His movements were lazy but deliberate, even when he brushed the crumbs on the floor with a nonchalant swipe of his hoodie’s sleeve. Living alone meant there was nobody to chide him for being a disaster when it comes to cleaning, but this time he wanted to check whether the roomba he got from Berry would take care of that. This was connected to the whole moving out ordeal too, along with the name his cool brother chose for the vacuum cleaner - Dustin Bieber. Everything to make the process easier, so it seemed.

He noticed that Sans was very quiet, even for being just tired. That, of course, meant there was something more going on with him, as Stretch had learned over the time he had known his best friend. That never was a good sign but there was also the fact that the other skeleton deliberately chose to come here despite clearly being not his usual chill self.

“Is something wrong?”, the lanky skeleton risked asking this question while lowering his tone into a much softer one. He knew that could scare Sans away but at the same time, being straightforward and honest when something was not right was his trademark. And his friend knew that very well.

The other skeleton looked at him, his eye lights a little dimmer than a while ago, and shrugged as he made a grumbling sound that answered the question better than any sentence could. Right after that, his gaze slid away and to the floor. The small hand lying on the counter curled into a loose fist with just the index finger tapping gently on the hard surface.

It was one of those days.

He decided that his friend can feel down in his brand new kitchen but only on a full stomach. Even if he literally didn’t have one.

“Seems like you need to get back to loafing around a little. Start with this.”, the lanky skeleton set a stack of toasts next to Sans.

That at least managed to force a weak chuckle from the small skeleton, who inched closer to the lazy sandwiches and started nibbling on the crust in an unenthused manner. Stretch followed suit as he sat right next to the other, his elbow close enough to nudge the ribs hidden underneath the blue hoodie.

They ate mostly in silence. There were a few attempts at joking and small-talk but it worked only half of the time, so they both dropped it. When the toasts disappeared and only a handful of breadcrumbs was littering the table as the only proof they actually ate something, Stretch scooted his chair a little closer to his friend.

The other skeleton huffed lowly and without moving away, he folded his arms in front of him before hiding his face in his elbow. Stretch didn’t say anything, feeling nothing but neverending patience for his friend’s mood and a small flicker of warmth that Sans didn’t try to hide from him under the facade of a chill guy.

“I... dunno... just... I just... it’s...”, the small skeleton mumbled without raising his head. He made a very vague and overall helpless gesture with his hand before he let it fall back onto the table with a clank. “You know...?”

A gentle smile tugged on Stretch’s ever-grinning teeth as he casually draped his arm around Sans and pulled him a little closer.

“Yeah, I know.”, he says in a soothing tone. “I know.”

It didn’t take much more for Sans to lift his head up and lean on the taller skeleton’s chest. Stretch tightened his embrace and instinctively slid his hand under the hood just to start rubbing small circles right between the hunched shoulder blades.

With a small huff, the other melted under that comforting touch and closed his tired eye sockets. Stretch leaned closer to press his cheekbone to his friend’s skull and looked around the kitchen filled with unpacked boxes.

For some reason, this room already started to feel like home.

#my writing #honeyketchup #underswap papyrus #sans #fluff #comfort #a little hint of sads #happy birthday! #drabble #that's how it's called?

[aknazer]

Plagg’s Day Out: Captain Oblivious

Also on Ao3

Day 4 << Day 5 >> Day 6

Plagg let the human have his delusions, since he was thoughtful enough to not try to squash Plagg with any (more) books. The ride to the mansion was silent as always, Adrien tossing a hurried “Thanks!” over his shoulder as he dashed into the house and up to his room with his bag banging against his hip.

“Adrien! Walk.” Nathalie’s voice was clipped and irritated.

“Sorry, Nathalie.” Adrien said, and Plagg sighed in relief as the bouncing became more bearable.

All too soon the reprieve was over. The bag was yanked open and Plagg scooped unceremoniously out and dumped onto the desk as Adrien dropped into his chair.

“Spill.” He commanded, pointing at the little kwami severely.

“Ask nicely.” Plagg snapped, annoyed.

“Don’t disappear.” Adrien spat, but slapped some camembert onto the desktop...then slid it away as Plagg made to pounce. “Story, then cheese.”

“Excuse me?” Plagg sneered, but privately was impressed with his kid’s gumption. A year ago he wouldn’t have dared. “I am the avatar of destruction. Do you want to mess with me, mortal?”

“Yeah, yeah, puny human.” Adrien rolled his eyes impudently. The two glared at each other before Adrien slowly withdrew a knife. Eyes never leaving Plagg, he cut a wedge of cheese, holding it out with a flat stare and an arched brow.

“...Deal.” Plagg said, snatching the cheese out of Adrien’s fingers. He restricted himself to only two bites before setting it aside. “Right. So, you chucked me out because your dad wanted to talk. Right?”

“Right.” Adrien muttered. “Sorry about that, by the way. He wasn’t happy about my performance at last week’s show, so he wanted to lecture.”

“Whatever.” Plagg waved away the apology. “So I’m out there eating my cheese, when this pigeon - do you know you guys have some ballsy birds around here?”

“Yeah, they’re notorious.” Adrien’s eyebrow cocked, clearly wondering where this was going.

“Fucking bird came and stole my cheese!” Plagg complained, waving his arms to try to impart the sheer enormity of this offense to the unimpressed human. “My cheese!”

“And you…” Adrien rolled his wrist, fingers circling as he urged Plagg to continue.

Plagg scowled at the lack of respect for the crime, but soldiered on. “Hopped on it’s back to try to strangle it.”

Adrien burst out laughing. “You did what?”

“Tried to kill the foul beast!” Plagg snapped. “But it made off with my cheese, and took me with it!”

Adrien laughed harder. “You rode a pigeon? You rode a pigeon!”

Scowling, Plagg finished his wedge while he waited for the laughter to subside. Finally, Adrien managed to calm himself down, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Okay. Alright. So what happened next?” Adrien’s eyes flicked up to Plagg, and a snort escaped as he abruptly clapped a hand over his mouth.

Scowling, Plagg silently held out a paw. Adrien cut another wedge, nearly slicing his finger while trying to contain his giggles. Still sniggering, Adrien set the wedge in front of Plagg, and Plagg ate it while his chosen (finished) getting himself under control.

Truthfully, Plagg had a decision to make - and he was still torn. He would have to tell Adrien who had been Chat Noire...but which person should he admit to? The fact that they were essentially the same person was irrelevant.

“Oh.” He said as the thought occurred to him. “I found a new place for you to get cheese.”

“What?” Adrien’s smile was puzzled, eyebrow knitting together as he looked at Plagg in confusion.

“So as I was riding the pigeon - don’t laugh - fighting for my cheese…” Plagg trailed off as Adrien dissolved into giggles again. “Am I going to get to finish? I thought you wanted to know what happened!”

“I do! I do.” Adrien waved his hands helplessly. “I just...keep imagining you...riding a pigeon…”

More laughter.

“You need to stop before you hurt yourself.” Plagg muttered sourly. It wasn’t that funny. “Man, just as your Princess for a picture. Lord knows she’ll be happy to draw it for you.”

He hadn’t realized how loudly he’d spoken until Adrien said. “I can’t. She doesn’t know what a kwami looks like.”

Oops.

“Oh, yeah.” Plagg nodded. “That’s right. Oh well, guess you’ll just have to draw it yourself.”

“Plagg?” Adrien’s voice was unexpectedly serious. “What did you do?”

“What? Me? Nothing. I did nothing.” Plagg temporized. “So I was riding the pigeon and-”

“Plagg.”

“Yes.” Plagg nodded. “Plagg. Riding a pigeon. Did I tell you the bird found un fromagerie for me? A whole shop filled with nothing but cheese! We need to go back there! I don’t know the address, but if we get up high enough I’m sure I can-”

“Plagg.” Adrien was staring at him, hard, and Plagg was abruptly reminded of why Adrien made such a good Chat Noir. “What. Did you. Do.”

“I ate a whoooollleee lot of cheese.” Plagg nodded sagely. “Seriously, we need to go back there.”

Adrien nearly growled. Pulling his mouse towards him, he clicked the internet icon. A picture of  Chat Noire popped up on the screen, posing and grinning on Alya’s rooftop.

“Who is that, Plagg?” He demanded, jabbing a finger at the screen.

Plagg hesitated. On one hand, he’d been dropping figurative breadcrumbs about the connection between Marinette and Ladybug for quite some time - telling Adrien that Marinette had been Chat Noire could well be the crumb that loafed everything together for him. On the other, would that be so bad? Wayzz may be making stalling noises about it, but there was an itch between Plagg’s shoulder blades that said something rotten was in the wind.

Marinette loved Adrien, but she didn’t know all of him. Ladybug loved Chat Noire, but her feeling for Adrien held her back from fully committing. Adrien was drawn to Marinette more than he would admit, and was held back by his devotion to his partner, Ladybug.

Plagg had seen this song and dance play out countless times over the millennia. And while normally he was mostly indifferent to it (he knew how it would end), Adrien needed the support that the combined affections of Marinette and Ladybug could provide. The rest of the circle closing around him would add to the protection, but without the foundation of a committed partner, it would all fall apart.

Or he could be worrying for nothing. Adrien wasn’t stupid, but he was naive and more than a little oblivious. The chances of him not connecting the dots were very real.

“Let me finish the story, and you’ll find out.” Plagg sniffed, realizing that Adrien was impatiently waiting for an answer.

Adrien sighed, slouching in his seat. “Fine.”

So Plagg told him about the cheese shop, and hiding from the irate owners before escaping in the delivery van.

“So you escaped into a delivery van, found more cheese, and fell asleep.” Adrien repeated.

“Yep.”

“You didn’t eat the cheese?”

“I was full.”

“...Wow. I...wow.” Adrien shook his head. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“It wasn’t. That’s the point.” Plagg said.

“No, I mean, I have never seen you full. Like, never have you ever turned down cheese.” Adrien shook his head again. “I mean, ever.”

“Maybe you’re just stingy.” Plagg pointed out.

Adrien’s eyebrow arched skeptically.

“Anyway, I made up for it at the next stop.” Plagg said.

Somehow, Adrien didn’t look surprised. And that was the point where Plagg decided screw it, it was going to be a lot funnier if Adrien knew who Chat Noire was.

“Turns out, the next stop - I think, anyway - was where the cheese was unloaded.” Plagg continued. “Turns out, I was in a bakery.”

“I can see where this is going.” Adrien groaned.

“Can you?” Plagg asked rhetorically. “Great. Because I was totally not expecting to be in a bakery. So, since you know where this is going, what happened next?”

“You ate something.” Adrien deadpanned.

Plagg beamed and clapped enthusiastically. “Maybe you do know this story! And then…?”

“I know you’re patronising me.” Adrien pouted.

“Such a clever little Kitten.” Plagg cooed, before dropping the act and smirking at his boy smugly. “Now, can I tell the story?”

Sarcastically, Adrien made a half-bow and gestured for him to continue.

“So, I’m in the refrigerator eating cheesecake when the door opens-”

“Eating cheesecake?” Adrien interrupted. “In a bakery?”

“Did I say bakery? Sorry. Bakery and patisserie.” Plagg grinned menacingly as Adrien’s expression turned suspicious. “But the door opens and who is standing there staring down at me? None other than your Princess.”

Adrien has gone chalk white, and Plagg doesn’t even try to suppress his cackles.

“Mar- Marinette?” Adrien’s voice cracks on the first try through his friend’s name, and Plagg only laughs harder. “You were in Marinette’s house? Plagg! Does that mean-?”

Adrien is staring at him like with the same look of abject horror that Plagg usually sees reserved for far more heinous crimes. Like killing puppies, or cannibalism. Or eating your main course with the salad fork.

Plagg grins harder and waits for Adrien to squeak the conclusion out.

“Plagg… that means,” Adrien looks so honestly horrified that Plagg is starting to become a little concerned. “That Marinette was Chat Noire!”

“Correct.” Plagg says with relish.

“Oh my god.” Adrien cried, grasping his hair and pulling on it comically. “She must have been so afraid! You must have terrified her! And then she, she probably tripped over something and got hurt and-”

“Wow.” Plagg drawled. “Way to give your girl some credit there, pal.”

“This is not funny!” Adrien screeched. “You probably really scared her! And then you turned her into Chat Noire? How did you even do that? Why? Why would you do that to her?”

“...What?” Plagg is now honestly confused.

“Plagg, Marinette can’t even walk half the time!” Adrien wailed. “She has, like, an inner ear problem! I know you’ve seen how she randomly falls over and trips over nothing! Sweet baby cheezus, you took her vaulting around Paris’ rooftops with nothing but a baton and a death wish?”

Plagg blinked. “You do know I could control her movements until she got the hang of it, right? Like I did with you? Ring any bells?”

“Okay, I might have needed help to do triple flips throw a good punch, but I didn’t need you to help me walk.” Adrien pointed at Plagg dramatically. “I at least had a sense of balance.”

Plagg stared at Adrien, who seemed very legitimately on the edge of panic. Nibbled his cheese, and watched some more as his chosen unnecessarily hyperventilated and fretted over his (non)girlfriend’s safety.

“You must have terrified her.” Adrien muttered. “A flying cat-god-demon in her fridge eating her food that turns her into a superhero and sends her catapulting around Paris. Oh my god, she must be having nightmares.”

“No, not really.” Plagg muttered. “Pretty sure she’d do it again.”

“I’m not talking to you.” Adrien snapped, before burying his head in his hands. “Poor, poor Marinette...”

“Seriously, your ‘Princess’ is fine.” Plagg was thoroughly exasperated. “She wasn’t too upset by finding me in her fridge, she probably has already drawn me riding a pigeon, and she handled your baton like a professional.”

Adrien’s head snapped up and he gaped at Plagg, pale and wide-eyed.

“She was in school today.” Plagg continued blithely. “Did she look scared and traumatized to you? Did she seem hurt?”

“...No?” Adrien seemed to be torn between being appalled and being horrified as he obviously tried to remember what Marinette had looked like that day.

Probably a stuttering mess, Plagg reasoned. It seemed to be her default around Adrien. Plagg snorted. “Inner ear problem” indeed!

“If you’re so concerned, why don’t you just go ask her?” Plagg reasoned.

“She doesn’t know who I am?” Adrien asked suspiciously.

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Please, what kind of amatuer do you think I am? No, she doesn’t know who you are. Did she act like she’d discovered the identity of one of Paris’ superheroes?”

“She also didn’t act as if she’d found the pocket-sized avatar of destruction munching cheesecake in her refrigerator.” Adrien pointed out dryly. “And yet, she did.”

“...Point.” Plagg conceded. “Guess you’ll just have to take your chances then.”

Marinette was sitting on her terrace. It was hot outside, but between the attic and the bakery’s ovens, inside was worse. So Marinette sat on her chair, hunched over her math, with a tall glass of water sweating at her elbow. She was busy chewing on the end of her pencil and trying to decipher the equations on her paper, and didn’t notice Chat approaching until he’d hopped over the railing.

“Chat?” Marinette’s head jerked upright, eyes wide as she took in her black-clad partner standing uneasily on her porch. “I mean, um, Chat Noir! How can I help you? Is everything alright?” She asked, widening her eyes and trying to sound impressed.

“Oh? Ye-yeah! Everything is great, Princess.” Chat shifted looking a tad uncertain before his normal bold demeanor asserted itself. “Or should I say, Chat Noire?”

“O-oh!” Marinette tittered nervously. “Plagg told you, huh?”

“Did you think he wouldn’t?” chat’s head cocked curiously. “I hear that I have you to thank for his safe return.”

“Not really.” Marinette waved him off. “I mean, all I did was feed him.”

“Not a small task.” Chat muttered. “Considering he only eats expensive cheeses.”

He only eats..? Marinette blinked, then giggled. “Oh, we managed.”

“And then he took you joyriding around the city.” Chat shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry, Princess. That must have been terrifying.”

“Oh, I was a little nervous, but only at first.” Marinette chewed her lip in what she hoped looked like anxiety...but really, she was trying to hide her amusement. Sure, a baton was different from her yo-yo, but seriously. She went flying over rooftops all the time. Vaulting around the city and giggling with Plagg had been different, sure, but it had been fun. “Really, it was a lot of fun.”

Chat beamed, looking absurdly relieved. “You’re very brave, Princess.”

“Would-” Marinette hesitated, but only for a second. Plagg’s words from the other day, and the impressions that had drifted across while they were connected, came to the fore. She hadn’t wanted to blend her two lives together, but… nightmares about a faceless boy, sitting alone and hungry in a dark room had plagued her last night.

How could she call herself a hero, if she ignored her own partner’s pain?

“Would you like something to drink? I mean,” she continued when he hesitated, “it’s pretty hot out, and you’re running around in black leather. That can’t be fun.”

Idly, she reached out, tracing a finger down the side of her glass and chasing the condensation that pooled there. Chewing her lip, she slip him a glance out of the corner of her eye as she picked the glass up and took a sip. Watched as he eyed the cool water as half-melted ice clinked inside the cup.

“Maybe just a little.” Chat said ruefully. “That would be wonderful.”

“Sure. Be right back!” Marinette set the glass down abruptly, smiling brightly before she turned and disappeared inside.

I want her. Plagg laughed inside Chat’s head.

Plagg? Chat asked, confused. Plagg’s amusement was nearly palpable.

Just give her the ring, kid. Plagg teased. Fu messed up - she absolutely should have been Chat Noir.

I know you’re joking, but I’m not sure what the joke is. Chat complained, frowning.

Hey! I am not joking! Plagg protested. I mean, mostly. I’m like, 30% serious. She’s got you by the balls, and you don’t have a clue.

What are you talking about? Chat cried. It’s just a drink of water! It’s like, twenty-eight degrees centigrade outside, and I’m in black leather. It’s hot, and I’m thirsty.

Well, you’re not wrong. Plagg muttered as Marinette reappeared with a glass of water and a plate of snacks. Keep telling yourself that.

Marinette had brought up a variety of treats: baguette slices with butter and cheese, some sliced vegetables, and petite fours to finish off with. Chat had asked her what she was working on, and the two of them had sat, working through equations, for another hour or so. The sun was sinking steadily towards the horizon when Marinette sat back, beaming at the finished worksheet in front of her.

“Thanks, Chat!” She grinned at him. “That made a lot more sense with you explaining it. I think you may have explained it better than the teacher.”

“Not a problem.” Chat smiled back.

“Wow, it’s getting late.” Marinette frowned out at the skyline.

“I should probably be heading back.” Chat nodded, looking ruefully towards the Agreste mansion.

“Actually…” Marinette hesitated. “Do you...think you could help me out just a little more?”

Chat’s brow furrowed in concern. “I...might. What do you need?”

“Is anyone expecting you home?” Marinette asked, suddenly worried that she might get him in trouble. “I don’t want to get you in trouble if you’re needed somewhere.”

“No, nobody is expecting me.” Chat shook his head. His father was out of town, and the staff didn’t take dinner with him. If he didn’t show for a meal, then it would be packed into the refrigerator for later. As long as it wasn’t there in the morning, nobody would report him.

...Then again, he’d couldn’t remember having ever gotten in trouble for missing a meal, only for taking extra.

“Oh, well then.” Marinette’s lips pursed at the strange look on his face before rearranging her expression as his eyes refocused on hers. “It’s just that, my parents are working late tonight, and I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me?”

Chat stared at her, and Marinette tried not to fidget as she smiled at him, belatedly realizing that it probably looked like she was coming on to him. A nervous blush fought it’s way up.

It’s not like that! She screamed internally. I just want you to eat, you silly boy!

The things she did for her friends…

“It’s just...there’s a big order for a wedding cake.” She stammered, wincing at the potential implications, hand rising to cup the opposite elbow nervously. “And mom always makes a ton of food! It’s like she thinks there’s ten of us, instead of three, you know? And I’ll be stuck eating dumplings for the next week if someone doesn’t help us finish them off, so…”

Chat’s face relaxed. “I’d love to have dinner with you, Princess.”

#ml #Plagg Appreciation Week #We are Miraculous #Marinette can play #But Plagg is the master #Adrien doesn't even know the game #Plagg's Day Out

[bigdickfartsapolka]

A Liveblog, because why not?

I, SCOTTICVS, being of stupid mind and tired body, have just atumbled upon the youtube that has "The Bravest Warriors, Season 1 (Every Episode)" and see that season 2 is in the suggested videos. I know nothing about it, and have only heard clips on tiktoks of catbug which is what made me search it, and so. I have come to the decision. That now, having seen 3 episodes. I will be live-blogging the rest of the episodes as I watch them, because this shit is too hilarious to not share with someone somewhere, so I am going to scream into the void until the void sends me suggestions that share whatever the fuck this sense of humor is back to me.

Episode 1, they are stuck in a timeloop and only learn about it at minute 3 of 5

How do they escape? They see their own corpses (2 sets) and decide "ain't no way I'm goin' in there". Episode over. BRILLIANT!

Episode 2, mystery dude called a FeelsLord or some biz shows up, talks all cryptically about the future and powers and then says psyche and makes puppies made of chocolate appear. Being as it is a sciency show, I bet they were all... Chocolate... LABS.

(I will not be apologizing for that, nor any other of my jokes. It was perfect and if you disagree then you’re wrong, and don’t click through to read more, because there will be a lot more that bad or worse... I’m sure of it already. I haven’t seen this show before at all, but I already love it.)

Episode 3! The holodeck is also the bathroom, which apprently they are all cool with just sharing as a crew because what are boundaries? I guess? And then the waterbuffalo dies by swarm of bees, which. Wow. That has such a D&D vibe to it. But even better, when Beth comes in, they're all just not sure if she saw or not, and then when she leaves she shows she totally did and locks them all in and loads up whatever the fuck BUTTER LETTUCE fantasy, Beth program 3 was, where the stripclub is all reverse-centaurs? And they all have a ..... Butter lettuce party in a spa? There's a hot tub? It's wild, but wonderful.

Episode 4. Here we go. First time viewing and fully new to me material from here on out. Weee. They're on a bus? Sorta? "SIGNS. THEY'RE EVERYWHERE IN THE FUTURE" Hahahahaha. And this kid. Can manifest toast. Alright, ... Oh. Too much toast. Dude. Memory loss episode. Fun? Wild. Everyone forgets everything. And the pilot decided to bail out and died in the vaccuum of space. Wow. what a bizarre show... JELLYKID, YES!... JELLYKID, NOOO! We assist peeps. Yeah. Hahaha. We're here to help. Jrllykid exclusively makes bread. And bad choices. I hope we see him again.

Memory Donk convention!?... Wooooow. Hahahahaha. President Memory Donk. Oh my. Oh, the best friend. But the kiss... But no. But okay. Pretty obvious where that is going to be going? Or not. Depends on whether they're gonna be trying to subvert or not and to what extent, etc.

...

Eposode 5! Buncheck. All about the booty this episode. Ooh. Avoiding the 100 years of baaad if they don't have things go well. Oh no. Poor little panic guy gets disappeared. Hahaha. Wooow. All about the butts and the dancing. Ooh! The guys butt said "Bully!" I love that when people say that. But oh no. Trouble. Ah! But the cut-in. Spark some jealousy. Yes, guy grows a spine, which is connnected to his enormous butt! And now they're doing buttstuff? Planet saved, by butt stuff. ... Moving on!

Episode 6! Ooh. We open on shooting and volcanos. Fun fun. A bomb. The EMOTION LORD! "I've been surviving alone on burritos for 8 long years." Let's quit spooning in the bouncy house and storm that hive! Hahahaha. More gunfire. Explosions. Emotion Lord claims to be Chris from the future. Woah, wait what? Denial, classic first response, good job Chris. I ain't your peppermaster. This show is so freakin' wild. The concierge, isn't he cute in his high chair. Ooh, no. Don't ask about the future. Temporal parasoxs, oh man. The concierge! "I'm not a bee, but Brother, I forgive you for that discrepancy" is such a Brennan Lee Mulligan NPC thing to say and has such an excellent energy to it. Aaawh, and he eats the B-12 and old dude gets more hair. Good ending.

Episode 7!

They have an invisible hideout? Wild. FIRST APPEARANCE OF CATBUG! Gas-powered stick? Weird. Ooh, Beth's friend makes me think of Marceline. Love the hair. All the guys want her and have 0 chill. No surprise, but still... Gas-powered Stick. Impossibear? Whata wild dude. Threw the stick, grew a tree, now a peach pit is giving Chris xray vision. Ooh, trouble, boyyo. Don't do that. Wha? A musical number?!? Nope. Got cut off. Too bad. Ooh, try something weird. It got weird alright. What the whaaa? So. That was a thing? Or, yah know, maybe it won't be. I dunno about continuity and this show yet. But hey! Catbug! Yaaay!

Episode 8!

Open on dramatic doors and then disco dance music. Time machine? Fun fun. Gonna get weird, I'd bet. New Miami? Whaaa? Wild. Hahaha. Ooh, memory goggles to show people in your brain stuff. Electric puke button? Whoa. That's terrible. Kill that awful character. But nooo, that's gonna make things worse somehow. "Hehehe. You're gonna punt children." "Sorry dude. Doesn't work out." Awh, too bad. No time machine thing this time.

Episode 9!

Everyone speaks gibberish? Seems that they understand each other though, so okay. Teleport to a portal or two and then angry laser dogs. Fire spirits make popcorn. I relate to them on a deep level. Apparently the ones on the planet are super sexist. No longer relate to them. Rude. Laserdogs meet other dog and things are good. First planet is good when gets plugged in with the power chord to the ship, so that's cool. Music puzzle on planet 3. Turns the whole world on its axis. Planetary alignment fixes speech problem. Wow. Weird. Hahahaha, but love it. Now who gets the big dude out of the pod?

Episode 10!

10 year anniversary of a jinx? Wow. Wild. Male female jive, and letting Beth sing I am the Walrus is just a wiiild addition. Cereal master fries her own face for dramatic effect. Wild. Ooh. His eyes glow. He has powers. Emotion lorded those seahorse dreams. Wiiild. "Run, fools. Run for your lives." "SOMEBODY GET GOD A MOJITO!" Woah. This is excellent and I love it. "IT'S THE DEVIL! SOMEBODY KILL HIM!" She remembers. Cereal lady goes home to talk to her Daddy instead of taking it out on customers and herself. And Beth does another jinx on Chris. This is such an enjoyable show.

Episode 11!

Wankershim leaves the holojohn and becomes his own independent individual. More carrots and breadcrumbs! ... Whaaa? Everyone becomes one with Wankershim. Their t shirts all change. CATBUG'S FRIENDS LINE! I love that CatBug sooo much. Ooh, mercy. Visions of the future. Always interesting, but also wiiild. The whole universe is Wankershim. Its always been Wankershim... That is rad.

I too have an interest in tacos.

The concierge!!!

Episode 12!

CATBUG! They're chilling in Beth's room. And then they get gifts from their parents! Catbug is an interdimensional jumper. Wild. I looove them. "SUGARPEAS! drop them! OKAY!" Makes much more sense now. Why would you make oatmeal cry? Good ask, Catbug. The presents grow into a horrible monster critter, a door, and then, naturally, as any D&D party. They immediately knock on it. They cannot open it. Paralyzed horse's log. Awh, poor thing. But wait. Who is Ralph Waldo Picklechips? What is there behind the door? Why does the old man miss Beth? What happened in the future?

Must find out more, next post, on BRAVEST WARRIORS. I will not liveblog that one unless there is any interest in this one though, because this actually took a lot of time and typing and also I am apparently 7 years behind or more on doing that, so. Oh well. Still, it was fun. GOTTA LOVE CATBUG!

[ecotone99]

[RF] Day Off

​

Thursday morning. I got ready for plans I knew my friend would cancel on. He wasn’t feeling up to it he eventually said after talking about bills that had just come out. ‘That’s grand, no worries’, I said half meaning it. He would often cancel closely held plans at the last minute, and I knew why but he never spoke about it unless he had 2 or 3 pints in him. Even then, they were soundbites.

I sat on the edge of my bed with one sock on, yesterday’s contents of my bag strewn across the duvet. But I felt defiant. Emboldened. I finished getting dressed, threw a few things into my bag and left the house. I was in a mood that was alien to me. I had only felt it a handful of times in college and never knew what to do with it. A kind of hollowness radiated from my chest, but I had new eyes and I didn’t care what happened anymore. I was going to have a date with myself in the city because I can, because I never could. I figured I would have a lot of days on my own in the city when I moved to New York in the summer, so this would be good practice. Dublin is more a town than a city anyway; a friendly introduction to cities.

Rain was lightly spitting, just enough to force your eyes to squint and blink a lot the way broken sunlight through sparse trees on a motorway would. I walked through my tiny town that was only recently a village. But for a handful of people going from one bookie to another, and some parked cars, the town was dead. I ended up in the new housing estate for rich people that was probably 15 years old, and took the walk it had down along the Liffey. I had decided I was going to meditate by the river. I walked along its bank for about 5 minutes searching for the best place to be and not be. I found a felled tree and put my bag on it and found myself quite comfortable. I scanned from the top of my head to my toes. My back ached. I opened my eyes after about 10 minutes and there was no red in the world. The river, the bank, the field, the sky, all hues of yellow, green, blue. Then my eyes adjusted and red crept back in. A little bird on the opposite side of the river was washing itself in the water and having a great time. So was I. I thanked it, gave a half-smile-nod to the river and collected my bag and left.

2 minutes down the river, I took out my joint and smoked half and checked the buses. I missed it. Next one was 30 minutes away. Fine, no rush. Why rush? I put on my headphones and heard the muffled rain get thicker. I felt the half joint start to hit pretty hard when I put a podcast on and my phone died. ‘Oh, well. Wait, no. I’m going into the city. I need my phone. Maybe it would be nice to be without it? I’m definitely going to get mugged and not be able to call home. What’s the time?’ I felt no grounding in time. The conversation in my head took about 10 minutes but I had only walked a few metres. My heart began thumping. ‘Fuck if I’m getting a whitener off half a joint. Fucking Chinese weed. The bus is half an hour a way, and the journey then is an hour. That’s grand. I’ll be grand by then. And I’ve been in town many times on my own for college. But fuck talking to a bus driver. What if I puke my ring up on him? Should I just go home? I can’t see my mam like this. Just walk and breathe.’ So I did, feeling more and more like someone you’d tell your kids not to talk to by the second. I was sure either my heart would break my ribs or I’d pass out before it could. Then I got on the main road. Cars. Dog-walkers. Civilisation. I can breathe again. At least if I pass out here someone will notice. The walk was entirely automatic from there which was good for feeling a bit more normal and safe but also bad because it got me back in my head again. I stood alone at a traffic light and pressed the button. No cars anywhere. No Green Man. Just rain scattering by a glowing Red Man, carrying his glow a little further than he could alone. People entered and exited the Tesco opposite. They must think I’m strange: no traffic, so why just stand there? I could feel their eyes on me, their eyes that were clearly nowhere near to looking at me. I crossed the road when the rain’s trail went from red to green and, as if as soon, the rain dried up and roaring hot sun belted down. April’s weird. The light blue with white clouds above me was besieged on all sides by angry, dark blue-grey clouds and no bees.

At last, I could see the bus stop. I made it, and with 4 minutes to spare. Success. Then it came and I hopped on after an entirely normal interaction with the bus driver that I didn’t even need to replay in my head. I sat upstairs in the front two seats on the left. It was far too hot but I made it and there was a plug socket by my seat so I charged my phone. Just like the blue sky that opened up amongst the dark clouds, I could feel my whitener anxiety leaving me. I put my ‘Pure Class Tunes’ playlist on and watched the sunny journey in my new stoney glow.

*

Being in the city for any length of time always gives me dry lips and a headache. It always feels like there’s grime or dust on my face. I can feel it in my nose. The Japanese tourists got it right wearing those medical masks about the city. They wear them if they have a cold or a flu or some kind of ailment so as not to pass it on. Something the West wouldn’t think to do. It’s different in the Far East, their society evolved differently. They’re much more communal, a mind for each other. Still though, I like to think they wear the masks because of the pollution, as if it vindicates me, nodding knowingly in my mind to any Japanese people I walk by wearing one.

I always wash my hands and face as soon as I get home. Wash cloth, roasting hot water, exfoliating passion fruit face wash. The city always forces its way into my home so I have to scrub it away. My face would be flush red afterwards but I could breathe again. Then into comfy clothes and on with the kettle for a cup of tea.

It was the bus in particular that felt the dirtiest. When you’re on a Bus Éireann in the early evening, when the sun goes kind of golden, when it gets lazy before it sets, the light shines through the manky greyed out windows, tiger-striped by god-knows-what, at an angle that reveals all the tiny particles of dust flying around that you don’t normally see. If you smack the chair in front of you, there’s this little mushroom cloud of dust that follows your hand up from the recoil of the impact and joins the attacking barrage of dust. It’s hard to breathe after you see that. Little sips through the gaps between your fingers, not big bellyfulls. Fresh air is a privilege, not a right, in the city. That’s why I always feel the dirt in my nose.

I run the tap as hot as it goes, filling the room with steam, to try and detox my lungs from the fallout. Deep breaths. In-two-three-four; Out-two-three-four; In-two-three-four; Out-two-three-four. I like to imagine the hot steam purging my trachea and bronchioles like rinsing a soapy J-cloth; the more you ring it, the more suds wash out, the clearer the water gets. It was almost uncomfortably hot, like when the boiling hot air hits the back of your throat in a sauna, but it would always do the job. I looked forward to that routine, as countryside became city outside my manky greyed out bus window.

*

I got off at Ha’penny and it was raining again. I didn’t mind because my pre-whitener mood had returned and I felt unstoppable. Just me alone in the city. I could do whatever I wanted. The Jehovas outside the GPO looked like a good place for a chat, but I didn’t. The vignette that being stoned places over your peripheral sight only allowed a few people in at a time. I heard the scream of Luas wheels and languages I couldn’t place. I could’ve been anywhere in the world and I could only have been on O’Connell Street.

I went to book shops and lost all track of time in the 2nd hand sections. How many people’s lives were here? How many generations? How many sold as a last resort, how many yellowed and dog-eared had once been someone’s bestfriend and where are they now? Book shops are other worlds entirely. The outside world tried to get in with bestsellers and 2-for-1s but it remained somewhere I could really breathe. Everyone seemed to know it, too. The college students that I no longer was, the first years looking blankly at the Philosophy section as if expecting the right book to reveal itself to them. Sartre, de Beauvoir, Deleuze. Towering names that would become poorly attended morning lectures. The hollowness in my chest made sure I knew it was still there. I bought 6 books, 4 by Irish writers, 4 by female writers. I felt good about that. The rain had stopped.

*

I wanted to get a coffee or some lunch but all I could see were international chains. Starbucks, Insomnia, Costa. You could imagine kids on playgrounds trading cards with those names. I thought about these chains and prison chains. That’s profound. I congratulated myself. Walking up Dawson Street, passed busy, well-dressed people, I studied the buildings. Centuries old. Entirely out of place against the backdrop of hybrid cars, suits on bluetooth phone calls and the Luas. Dublin is an afterthought. If I looked hard enough at the Victorian and Georgian buildings, I could see cobble streets, heavy coats, peak caps, black smoke, workhouses, laundries. A steampunk film set establishing itself around me. Architecture is the most overlooked art, I thought. I congratulated myself again. In the end, I got a bottle of water and a Nutri Grain bar in the Londis on Grafton Street; it’s a chain but at least it’s an Irish one. I couldn’t find any small or family-owned businesses in that part of the city, rent’s too high. It was cold now.

I wandered into Stephen’s Green and sat on a bench by the ducks and seagulls and pigeons. They were all flocked around an older woman dropping breadcrumbs out of one of those thin opaque plastic bags you get your croissant or a couple loose lemons in. The last time I sat watching the birdlife in the Green like this I saw a great big heron overlooking the pond. I was still in college then. I couldn’t see the bird now.

I dug through my bag and found the small conical tube I stored the remaining half of my joint in, and smoked it while walking around the park, making sure not to light it until I was beyond a small group of kids. A tour guide spoke to a gathering of Spanish students in heavy read coats about this particular area of the park. I couldn’t see what she was talking about so I waited around til the group moved on. The Three Fates. I had never seen it before. Three faded-bronze-green figures, one in front of the other, the first kneeling, all with their hands held in some Christ-like position. It was a gift from the Germans after World War 2 for all we did for refugees after the war. The figures looked ancient and Celtic, like the Germans were acknowledging a shared history; family looks after family. Then I thought about the internet and direct provision and your uncle who spits bile about refugees in the comments of an article he hasn’t read and then calls the Famine a genocide. And then I remembered I’ll be leaving for New York in the summer, like millions of Irish before me and how, at one stage, Manhattan was one third Irish. And then I put my roach in the bin.

*

It started raining again, but this time it meant it. Everyone lifted their jackets over the heads and put on hats and opened umbrellas and run-walked towards trees and gazebos. The rain drops on the mud and tarmac smelled like scrapes on your hands and knees in playgrounds. I played ‘Rain’ by the Beatles in my headphones and walked the labyrinthine paths, taking no care over whether I turned right or left or carried straight on. I could feel my steps landing on the steps of Victorians and Georgians long ago. I saw a bench with a golden inscription on it so I stood by the mossy saxifrage, and under the tree, opposite it to see what it read.

​

IN MEMORY OF LOUIE BENNETT, 1870-1956, BUILDER OF THE IRISH WOMEN WORKERS’ UNION, WORKER FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, WORLD PEACE AND THE UNITY OF IRELAND, HER SYMPATHY AND LOVE FOR HUMANITY KNEW NO BOUNDARIES

​

Of all the people I could have had lunch with on this day, I was glad it was her. I stood with her for a long time, staring at her bench, thinking of the internet, pulling off small lumps of Nutri Grain and eating them. After a while, after I had become present again, the rain tried to ease off, so I walked back to the pond to feed the ducks with the end of the bar.

*

On the bus home, my inevitable dry lips and headache came on in full force. I tucked my knees into my chest and thought about the summer, being in New York, leaving home, friends, family, memories, childhood. The football pitches opposite our house was being developed into a new housing estate. Just like that, a new future was made. A new past. All the houses looked the same; fresh red bricks, newly muddied pavement, almost-grass lawns. I hated that the children of those homes would never know the forest adventures down the lane that was now to be someone’s back garden. They’d never know skipping school on hot days in May, when everyone was allowed to take their jumpers off and undo one or two shirt buttons, when you should have been studying for your Junior Cert., to lie in those pitches as the only people in the world and talk about boys and girls and flick bottles caps at each other and play World Cup Doubles. What would their stories be? Where would they take place? We’re running out of fields! Why does progress always look like a clean-up crew at a bomb site? When I got home, I opened my suitcase and didn’t know what to pack.

​

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